Cromwell — Act fourth

The Voice.All goes well! are you on guard?Cromwell [resting his musket on the ground.All goes well! are you on guard?A Third Voice [in the distance.All goes well! are you on guard?Cromwell [after a moment's silence.I am on guard, in sooth—on guard for all!Cromwell, by sober forethought hither led,Will to his murderers, with his own hand,Open his door.[Footsteps are heard in the distance.Open his door. How now! already? no,

The clock's not yet struck twelve. 'Tis someone passing.[The voice of someone singing; the words cannot be distinguished.Singing! The knave has kept his fast but ill!

[The voice approaches, and the following words can be heard, sung to a monotonous air:

When the sun's in the west,Thou who goest in questOf gold,Beware lest thou fall—Soon thee will night's pallEnfold

With mist like a cloudDoth old Ocean enshroudThe dune.By eyes the most keenNot a house can be seen,—No, none.

Bold thieves thee pursue;So they commonly doBy night:The elves of the wood,They wish us no good,For spite.

They go hither and yon;Lest thou haply meet one,Beware!In the moon's pale raysDance the frolicsome faysOf the air.

[The voice comes nearer and nearer; the singing ceases.Cromwell.Bah! it is one of my four fools who sings—Elespuru, I think.

[The Jesters, led by Gramadoch, enter cautiously, feeling their way.Elespuru [humming.

In the moon's pale rays,Dance the frolicsome faysOf the air.

Giraff [to Elespuru, in an undertone.Elespuru, in heaven's name, be still!Art mad?Gramadoch [to the others, pointing to a grassy bank, behind a hedge.Art mad? Here let us all conceal ourselves.Cromwell [not seeing them.Ay, 'tis my fool returning to the palace.[The four Jesters lie down on the bank.Gramadoch [in an undertone.The plot doth centre now upon this spot.From here we shall see all.Trick [in an undertone.] …see all. Faith! we should haveA clerk's eye. See, quoth he! Upon my word,In Satan's oven it is far less dark!Elespuru [in an undertone.Whoe'er the actors be, if they should findOur charming faces here, they'd make us payRight roundly for our seats.

Gramadoch [in an undertone.] …our seats. We came in time:The play has not begun.Giraff [in an undertone.] …begun. Wilt hold thy peace?Cromwell.The fool has gone his way, nor did he dreamThat where his drunken folly found a voiceA nation's destiny 's to be determined.How blest is he! For e'en in Whitehall hereHe an imaginary world creates.He has no subjects, sits upon no throne;He has no aching fibre in his heart;Over that guileless heart he never wearsBuckler of steel—for who would have his blood?What need has he of court or guard? He's free;He sings and laughs, he passes on, unheeded.What recks he of the future? He 'll ne'er lackA strip of velvet for his winter suit,A place to lay his head, a bit of breadEarned by his quips and cranks. He sleeps all night.And has no ghastly dreams, nor need defendHis life against the plots of paid assassins.He wakes and thinks of nought. How blest is he!His words are empty sound, his life a dream.And when he nears the goal where all things end,Death's scythe, which spareth none, will seem a toy,A plaything, to that grey-haired child. Meanwhile,His voice, if we would laugh, or haply weep,Gives forth whatever note we may desire,Chatters incessantly, and has a songFor all emergencies. His animationCovers profound repose. The living toyOf other men, a hollow, echoing head,That babbles like a shallow, purling brook,He quivers at the slightest shock, more promptTo vibrate than the little bells he wears.

That fool would never take the insensate pains,As I do, to confine the whole wide worldWithin his mind; no pregnant words, or sighsInstinct with meaning come from out his heartLike flames from the volcano. And his soul—Has he a soul?—doth slumber ceaselessly.When morning comes he knows not what he didThe night before. He has no memory;Ah me! how blest he is! Never, at night,His mind disturbed by dark and gloomy thoughts,Hastening along some sombre corridor,Fears he to turn, lest he should see a ghost.He has no wish that he might be forgot,Nor that, in all the twelve months of the year,There was no thirtieth of January!Ah! wretched Cromwell! thou art enviousE'en of thy fool. Thou art omnipotent;To what good end hast thou employed thy life?[A pause.Thou reignest; o'er the terror-stricken worldThy sway extends. How dearly dost thou payFor all this grandeur! Thou abandoned artBy every party; by the people spurned;Thy family is with thy star at war,And, forcing thee to make its will thy law,Doth pull thee to and fro, and here and there,By thy king's cloak! And even thine own son!O God! I am abhorred by every one,And everything combines to overwhelm me.I've enemies, aflame with bitter hate,Throughout the world—and elsewhere, too, I doubt—E'en in the tomb!—But better days will come,It may be.—Better days! what do I say?For fifteen years past, my destiny

Hath gone its way as by a miracle.What wish had I that was not gratified?The nations 'neath my yoke have bent their necks.I 've but to say the word to be made kingTo-morrow.—In my most delirious dreamsHave I e'er dreamed of greater eminence?Reformer, conqueror, and judge and king—Have I not reached my goal?—A noble end,In sooth, to play the archer at this gate,On sentry-go, for hire!—What outward pomp!What inward bitterness![Another pause.What inward bitterness! A frigid night!'Twill soon be twelve o'clock, when every ghostComes from his coffin forth and shows his murdererHis bloodstained hand, his fatal, gaping wound,And on his winding-sheet a bloody stain!—But what new dream is this? A grievous thingIt is to be alone!—Am I a child?Ah me! would that I were!—That cursèd Jew,With all the horrid visions he evoked,Left me a-creep with fright; he chilled my blood,—I tremble even now.—It is so cold!—To counteract his sacrilegious words,Suppose that I repeat the sacred verse'Gainst sorcery?[A clock begins to strike midnight with slow strokes.What noise is that?—The clock! it is the time![He listens.I ne'er had heard it at the midnight hour.'Tis like a knell! 'tis like a weeping voice![He pauses and listens again.'Twas it that struck a martyr's final hour![After the last stroke of the clock.Midnight!—I am alone!—Should I invoke

The saints?[Sound of footsteps behind the trees.The saints? Ah! now I am at ease once more!Here are my murderers!

Rosebery [to the others.This is the place.Ormond. This is the place. 'Tis so. I know it well.[Pointing to the gate in whose shadow Cromwell stands concealed.The royal hunt did enter here of yore.Cromwell [aside.]'Tis they. At last I know with whom I deal!Downie [to Lord Ormond.Wilmot should meet us here.Cromwell [shrugging his shoulders, aside.Wilmot should meet us here. He's far too clever.Drogheda [to Downie.]But can he? Must he not give precedenceTo his official duties? Thinkest thouThe collar for his neck is over large?

Cromwell [aside.]Assassins! you will wear the like ere long;And Haman's gibbet's none too high for you!Ormond [to the Cavaliers.]Moreover, he'd have dangered our success;And if he be detained, I deem it causeFor gratulation.Cromwell [aside.] …tulation. So do I, in truth.Ormond. With Wilmot I am always terrified.But we draw near the end.Cromwell [aside.] …aw near the end. 'Tis the fit word.Ormond.See to what point Wilmot is mad, my friends.Old Noll a pretty daughter hath, 'tis said.Wilmot 's enamoured of her; nought care IFor that.Cromwell [aside.] Audacious villain!Ormond [continuing.] …dacious villain! He hath writA madrigal in honour of the maid.A Wilmot play at rhyming, save the mark!But, worse than that, forgetting what is dueMy age and rank, he would have read it to me!I the affront received as it deserved!But lo! when I, in agonized suspense,Awaited news of him, there came a letter—A letter of importance, so 'twas said.In eager haste I open it and findFast-sealed therein the cursèd madrigalCommemorating little Cromwell's charms!Cromwell [aside.]My Frances! in my presence thus to talk of her!Rosebery [laughing, to Lord Ormond.Such persecution is past bounds, my lord!Downie [laughing.]To make one read his verses, as it were,

In the King's name. I' faith 'tis like a poet!Ormond.But list to this. After these verses, sealedWith such judicious forethought, I receivedFrom Rochester a second message—thatWhich at this moment doth unite us here.And, gentlemen, 'twas just a roll of parchmentWith a pink ribbon tied.All the Cavaliers. With a pink ribbon tied. Is 't possible?Ormond.See how that idiot doth expose us all.Clifford.'Tis shocking! Does he deem such tricks jocose?Ormond.The message was entrusted, it is true,To Willis. But it might have chanced to fallInto unfriendly hands!Rosebery. Into unfriendly hands! Then nought were leftBut flight.Jenkins. But flight. Upon what frail supports one leans!I shudder when I think how many thingsFate sometimes on a madman's head doth balance.At the first change of wind, the slightest sound,The towering structure falls, and in a night,A throne, a nation, mayhap a whole world,Doth vanish!Sedley. Doth vanish! But methinks that DavenantIs missing, too!Ormond. Is missing, too! Bah! Davenant, a clown,A mountebank, a poet!—He 's in hiding!Count if you will on such base churls as he!Downie.Our good friend Richard Cromwell, by the way,The usurper's son, 's in prison. Did you know?A traitor—Drogheda. A traitor—Ay, poor Richard!Cromwell [aside.] …Ay, poor Richard! Poor, indeed!

Poor parricide!Rosebery. Poor parricide! He's such a boon companion!Cromwell [aside.]Is 't so?Sedley [to Rosebery.Is 't so? His father, I believe has learnedThat he this morning drank to the King's health?[Rosebery replies with an affirmative nod.Cromwell [aside.]The traitor!Ormond. The traitor! Look you, gentlemen, in wordsThe time is passing. Let 's begin to act.Cromwell [aside.]Before my eyes their plot 's developing.To all these rats of Egypt, this king's crew,We will throw Whitehall open like a trap.Wilmot 's the bait, and Cromwell is the spring,Which closes suddenly that none escape.Ormond [to the Cavaliers, in an undertone.Let us accost the soldier.[He walks toward Cromwell.Cromwell [presenting his musket.] Who goes there?Ormond [to Cromwell, in an undertone.Brother—Cologne!Cromwell [aside.] …Cologne! I've not the countersign!What's to be done?Ormond. What's to be done? Cologne!Cromwell [aside.] … be done? Cologne! What to reply?

Rosebery [to Lord Ormond.]Well, what's the matter?Ormond [pointing to Cromwell.He does not speak.Rosebery. He does not speak. What if, by any chance,Cromwell 's become suspicious of our plotAnd changed the guard?

[The Cavaliers, in manifest inquietude, gather about Lord Ormond.Ormond. And changed the guard? When one has ta'en the riskIn schemes like this, to falter 's to lose all.We must go forward.[He walks toward Cromwell again.Cromwell [aside.]. … forward. 'Twould arouse distrustTo make their way too easy.To make th… [To Lord Ormond.]Who goes there?Ormond.Cologne!Cromwell [aside.] Ah! how shall I them overreach?Without the countersign how them ensnare?

Still silent!Clifford [earnestly, in an undertone.Still silent! Then let's kill the sentinel!Jenkins [to Clifford, in an undertone.What! send a soul headlong before God's throneEre it has even time to say a prayer?Clifford [to Jenkins, in an undertone.What matters it?Ormond [to Clifford, in an undertone.What matters it? But strike a man behind?Clifford [to Ormond, in an undertone.We must pass in, my lord. I grieve for him.All [to Ormond, in undertones.Yes, let us kill the man!Jenkins [in an undertone.] … man! All stained with sin,Send him before his judge!All [in undertones.] …his judge! Yes, let him die!Cromwell [aside.What are they saying there?

Murray. What are they saying there? With deference,You all are wrong. This man is one of us,I am full sure. For were it otherwise,Seeing us grouped together by this wall,He would long since have given the alarm.I doubt not that a little gold, my lords,Will speedily disarm him. We have noughtTo fear, save for our purses, from this man.If he speaks not, it is because he wantsA few gold pieces more. If he is deaf,Hears not your countersign, it is becauseHe has the greedy humour of the Saints.'Twere better far to buy a new safe-conductThan poniard him—for that would make a noise.Rosebery.Murray is right. In sooth, the boorish loutWould not forbear to cry that he was murdered.Clifford [sighing.Ah, well! then let us treat.Downie. Ah, well! then let us treat. Ill fortune willsThat we are very ill supplied with funds.Sedley.This Cromwell is a thief! To confiscateOur brig as contraband! And on the throne,The English throne, this chief of brigands sits!Ormond.That hoary-headed clipper of good crowns,The Jew Manasseh hath advanced to meA sum of money; but 'tis spent.—But, stay!I had a purse from Rochester—[He feels in his doublet.] 'Tis here.[He takes a purse from his pocket.Rosebery.Most timely succour!Clifford [pointing to Cromwell.Most timely succour! 'Tis a monstrous shame

To count out honest crowns to yonder bigotWhom we so readily could recompenseWith a good dagger-thrust!Ormond [handing the purse to Murray.With a good dagger-thrust! Sir William Murray,Pray undertake the bargain to conclude.Better than we you know these Saints, their ways.Murray [taking the purse.Fear nought.Cromwell [as Murray walks toward him, aside.Fear nought. Ah! they have held a council. 'Sdeath!Was ever mortal man in such a plight,For a mere nothing—for a single word!They would go in, and I would let them in.An understanding we should quickly reach.Murray [aside.]I needs must manage shrewdly.Cromwell [to Murray, as he approaches.I needs must manage shrewdly. Who goes there?Murray.A saint.Cromwell [aside.] The hypocrite!Murray. A saint. The hypocrite! Blest be the steelThat girds your waist!Cromwell [aside.] …ds your waist! To be by RoyalistsThus blest is sweet indeed!Murray [aside.] …st is sweet indeed! To these evangelistsOne needs must speak in their own chosen tongue.[Aloud.]Brother, upon her tower Zion hadArchers on guard, who to each other calledBy night and day. You do resemble them.Cromwell.Much thanks.Murray. Much thanks. The night is cool.Cromwell. Much thanks. The night is cool. 'Tis even so.Murray.The bird sleeps in its nest, and in their stallsThe cattle; all things sleep, save you alone.

Cromwell.I do my destiny fulfil.Murray. I do my destiny fulfil. 'Twere better farTo sleep in a good bed.Cromwell [aside.] … in a good bed. Better for thee.Murray.Standing upon the frozen ground, alone,Your shoulder by a heavy musket bruised,You wake and watch; and he whose cross you bear,Cromwell, your chief, is sleeping peacefully.Cromwell.Ah! think'st thou so? It cannot be, my friend.For Cromwell doth not sleep when I 'm awake.Murray.With what false tales he doth delight your ear!Cromwell.And so thou dost believe that he 's asleep?Murray.Ay, I am sure of it. To you he owesThat blest tranquillity and slumber sweet.He takes the pleasure, leaves to you the pain.Cromwell.In sooth, it is ill done.Murray [aside.] … it is ill done. Now our successIs sure. He is dissatisfied—'tis well![Aloud.For recompense of such devoted service,Does your great Cromwell even know your name?Cromwell.I think so.Murray [shrugging his shoulders.] Bah! how innocent you are!How simple-minded!Cromwell [aside.] …le-minded! 'Tis a cunning knave!Murray.Think you that Cromwell, from his splendid throne,Would condescend to look so low as you?—Nay, nay, he does not even know your name,My friend. 'Tis sure!Cromwell [aside.] … 'Tis sure! He 's sure of everything;Save that he 'll have his head in place to-morrow!

'Twould seem that he did make me what I am.Murray.You look to be a worthy man, my friend;But you pretend to know more than myselfTouching these matters.Cromwell. Touching these matters. I am in the wrong.Murray.I grew to manhood in the late King's court.Cromwell [aside.]The idiot! he doth forget himself.False to his rôle, the Cavalier so soonDoth show his skin beneath the Puritan.Murray.All courts, my friend, at bottom are the same.You knew not that, I 'll wager?Cromwell [aside.] … not that, I 'll wager? He is deep!Murray.To this man Cromwell you devote your life?Cromwell.Assuredly.Murray. Assuredly. Well! shed your blood for himTo the last drop; he 'll pay less heed to it,I promise you, than to the stream that flowsBeneath the bridge, be it or clear or foul!Cromwell.Methinks that I am nearer to his heart.Murray.How soft you are! What cares he, on his height,Whether you be a dead or living man?Cromwell.What knowest thou thereon?Murray. What knowest thou thereon? Psha! is your lifeIn any wise linked with his fate? Wherein?Cromwell [aside.]For thy undoing—more than thou dost dream!Murray. And do you not expect a recompense?Is it not time that he should it bestow?For is it not a monstrous, crying shame,You a mere private, when, as I dare swear,You rarely leave him?

Cromwell. You rarely leave him? Never.Murray. You rarely leave him? Never. You have beenIn all his wars?Cromwell. In all his wars? I have.Murray. In all his wars? I have. What scores there beOf sergeants whose deserts are less than yours!Cromwell [aside.]A long stride that toward captivating me.[Aloud.]Thou flatterer!Murray. Thou flatterer! Not so. What! I, presumeTo treat you with such insolence! In sooth,Is he so great a captain?Cromwell [aside.] … great a captain? Malapert!Murray.Look you—with all his palaces, and guards,And carriages of state, what is this Cromwell,Concerning whom so much ado is made?A soldier like yourself.Cromwell. A soldier like yourself. No more than that.Murray [aside.]Our cause is won!Our cause… [Aloud.]He is no more than you.Cromwell.'Tis true!Murray.Then wherefore serve him on your knees?Cromwell.I serve him not.Murray [aside.] …him not. 'Tis well! his feet are caughtAlready in my net.Already in … [Aloud.]Why should not you,As well as he, possess the place he holds?Cromwell.In truth, the change would never be discovered.Murray.'Twould not, indeed! a soldier for a soldier!In heaven's name, how is it possibleThis duty to perform, which me abhors?For this so irksome trade, what is your pay?

Cromwell.I am not paid.Murray. I am not paid. Not paid! Upon my word!Old soldiers so ill-used! I pity you.Cromwell [aside.He pities me!Murray. He pities me! To keep him, without pay!Cromwell's a tyrant!Cromwell [aside.] …'s a tyrant! Here we go again!Murray.My anger chokes me!Cromwell [aside.] … chokes me! Touching interest!Murray [taking his hand.I fain would succour you, and, more than that,Avenge you.Cromwell. Avenge you. What! avenge me?Murray. Avenge you. What! avenge me? Ay, on Cromwell.Cromwell.On Cromwell?Murray. On Cromwell? Open yonder gate to us.Let Judith be struck down by Holofernes.Cromwell.Nay, Holofernes rather, should'st thou say,By Judith. You misquote your Bible, sir.Murray.Well said.Cromwell.Your beard, methinks, is something blackFor Judith.Murray [aside.]Why the deuce did I recallThat tale? For Judith was, in fact, a woman.What odds?[Aloud.]My friend, to Cromwell while he sleeps,Let us have access. 'Twill advantage thee.Cromwell.Ah! think'st thou so?Murray. Ah! think'st thou so? What matters it to theeThat half a score of men pass through yon gate?At this blest moment fortune comes to theeWhile thou 'rt asleep, as 'twere.Cromwell. While thou 'rt asleep, as 'twere. Asleep, thou say'st?

Murray [handing him a purse.Accept this handsel. Thou hast nought to do,Save to say Whitehall when one says Cologne.Cromwell [aside.]Whitehall's the countersign!Murray. Whitehall's the countersign! Pray, take this gold.We pay.Cromwell [aside.] And so do I![Aloud, taking the purse.]Thanks, 'tis a debtI owe to you.Murray. I owe to you. And thou wilt stand on guardFor us, during the interlude.Cromwell. For us, during the interlude. I will.Murray.'Tis well.[Offering his hand.'Tis well. Your hand! By heav'n! a worthy fellow.Cromwell.But tell me, when you've Cromwell in your hands,What will you do with him?Murray. What will you do with him? Why, first of all—I think—yes, we shall kill him,—nothing more.Cromwell.A trifling matter.Murray. A trifling matter. We shall be contentWith a swift and painless death. No one of usIs cruel.Cromwell [aside.] I'll not be crueller than you.Murray.Is it agreed?Cromwell. Is it agreed? Thou said'st it.Murray [to the Cavaliers waiting at a corner of the stage.Is it agreed? Thou said'st it. Come, and quickly.By paying tribute to the Levite, weObtain admission to the sanctuary.I made no doubt of it.Ormond [to Murray.] …of it. Is 't done?Murray. I made no doubt of it. Is 't done? 'Tis done.

Ormond [to the Cavaliers.Let us go forward.

Cromwell. Let us go forward. Who goes there?Ormond. Let us go forward. Who goes there? Cologne.Cromwell.Whitehall. Pass on.Ormond [aside.] …hall. Pass on. 'Tis well!Cromwell [watching the Cavaliers as they pass through the gate.Whitehall. Pass on. 'Tis well! So far, so good.Ormond [to Murray, in an undertone.Murray, remain, and have an eye to him.[To Cromwell.]Tell me, my brother, where we may find Cromwell.Cromwell.In the apartment called the Painted Chamber.Ormond [to Cromwell.]Our footsteps by the darkness are concealed;But none the less keep careful watch, my friend.Cromwell.Fear nought.Ormond [joyously.] At last!—I near the longed-for goal;And my last years are crowned with victory.Cromwell is mine. Soon shall I hold him fast.The chance for which I prayed to Heav'n has come:Cromwell is fast asleep and in my power!Him Heaven to my mercy doth give o'er.Cromwell [looking after him, aside.That which one asks of Heav'n, hell sometimes grants.

Cromwell [his eyes fixed on the postern.They're in the trap!Murray [rubbing his hands.]At last we've reached our goal!This mighty Cromwell, he who hath no peerIn the whole world, this famous general,This clever statesman to whom Europe singsEternal hymns of praise, this master-mind,This hero, for whose stature Europe deemsThe sceptre of this realm too light, the throneToo narrow, lets himself be caught at last,E'en as a wingless bird, by eight poor foolsWho have not 'twixt them all a pair of brains!For I'm the only one whose brain is sound.Without me nothing had been done, i' faith!—Cromwell, a vagabond, adventurer,Hardly a gentleman, reign over kings,Like any Roman Cæsar!—But these kingsMay learn a useful lesson from us now!The man whose power curtailed their ancient rights,Surprised in his own palace!—and by us!What ignominy!—Fifteen years and moreThe world has dubbed him genius.

The world has dubbed him genius. Think of it,My friend! Because he won some paltry battles!Cromwell [aside.]In which thou hadst no part!Murray. In which thou hadst no part! Because with wordsAnd sermons and grimaces he is aptTo please the crowd and stir the multitude,The world lies prostrate at his feet, instead

Of hooting him! A clown who knows not howTo make a bow!Cromwell [aside.] …a bow! He may not know himself,But teaches others.Murray. But teaches others. What I say is true.His manner—almost it resembles yours.Cromwell.Almost?Murray. Almost? Yes, you do bear yourself in armsE'en as a soldier should; you do not raiseYour eyes too high. You have the graceful portOf a Swiss reiter, for the headlong chargeOr for the drill-field.Cromwell. Or for the drill-field. You are much too kind.Murray.No, each man to his trade; you would not choose,Before a nation's eyes, to simulateA court, and hoist yourself upon the throne.The stuff whereof your Cromwell is composedIs measured by your yard-stick. Is it notAbsurd for Noll to dare to show himselfUpon the royal platform in broad day?His fortune is a wondrous freak of fate.Last night he was so awkward at the audience!Cromwell.And wert thou present?Murray. And wert thou present? Do not call me "thou,"My friend! We cannot walk with equal step.I am a noble Scotsman, you must know.Men of your sort before my carriage run.Know you that on my crest I have a wolf?Moreover, under good King James the FirstIt was my privilege to be chastisedAs proxy for the Prince of Wales.Cromwell. As proxy for the Prince of Wales. 'Tis true,Our rank is not the same.Murray. Our rank is not the same No, happily!

Cromwell.Let us return to where we were before.Sometimes, 'twould seem, you have consorted withThis Cromwell, now the object of your scorn?Murray.Ay, for a purpose. One cannot fight onFor ever, like Montrose.Cromwell. For ever, like Montrose. I understand:My gentleman some goodly office soughtAt the vile tyrant's hands, pending the timeWhen he could sell him to the outlawed King.Murray.How blunt you are!Cromwell. How blunt you are! I know nought of fine words.Murray [aside.]Cromwell. The fellow! You were ill received by Cromwell,Your prayer denied, perchance?Murray. Your prayer denied, perchance? Denied? ah, no!Cromwell [aside.How he doth lie!Murray. How he doth lie! Nay, on the contrary,The bear to me was most obsequious.He felt the compliment I paid to him,And left me free to choose among the giftsAt his disposal.Cromwell [aside.] …sposal. Ay, between the doorAnd window.And… [Aloud.]Why, then, turn against hir now?Murray.Oh! I reflected. How consent to serveA churl who reigns like some jack-corporalGiving an order; a mere clodhopperWho tries to smile at you but shows his teeth,And answers a salute with knees turned in?Cromwell.I understand.Murray. I understand. And then I learned his fallWas near at hand.Cromwell. Was near at hand. Whereon the right divineOf th' exiled Stuarts to your mind recurred?

Murray. The Stuarts' right and Cromwell's clownishness,My friends all urging me in one direction,Success against so pitiful a wretchBeing beyond dispute, I joined this plot.Cromwell.Your arguments I follow and approve.Murray.Look you, my friend! We stand for principle.William the Norman violated it;But he repaired the error in due timeBy marrying his son, Henry the First,To Maud of Scotland, in his early youth.The Stuarts from the Athelings and themTrace their descent in an unbroken line.It follows thence that our King Charles the Second,Sprung from both races, in himself unitesThe rights of Saxon and of Norman, both.Cromwell.'Tis plain.'Tis plain. [Aside.]I understand this reasoningBut ill.Murray. But ill. I leave the question to your judgment.Cromwell [aside.]He chooses well his judge, upon my word!Murray.The claim of our young King is clear as day.Cromwell.Doubtless.Murray. Doubtless. Nathless a Cromwell doth contest it!Is 't not unheard-of that this turkey-vulture,Should leave his barnyard for the eagle's nest.If he had talent, well! But I repeat,'Tis Jericho a-crumbling without trumpet.Cromwell [aside.]Well said!Murray. Well said! His destiny doth ever marchToward the throne; but 'tis a phantom vainWhich fades to nothing if it be but touched.

Cromwell [ironically.]An idol—head of gold and feet of wax!Murray.A paltry creature I have always thought him.Mere reputation does not me deceiveI have judged Cromwell. That man would be king!What times we live in! He has not the artTo foil a plot, anticipate a ruse!Why you yourself are many times more shrewdThan the besotted fool who at this hourIs taken in his bed!Cromwell [aside.] …in his bed! If he but knewHow truly he doth speak, the idiot!Murray.Thinks he 'tis such a simple thing to reign?He, king! I would not have him for a courtier.Cromwell.You would be well advised.Murray. You would be well advised. We may agreeThat he is skilled in brewing goodly beer.But hath he right to bear the bassinetAnd gambière? At most, no more than these.Upstart nobility. And is his nameEqual in lustre to his trusty Milton's?Cromwell [aside.]Impertinent!Murray. Impertinent! He's not content to beA brewer of renown, but needs must playThe great man, ape the tyrants and the heroes!Are not such petty squires ridiculous?He learns to yoke the people to his car,The hydra to subdue, the world to rule,—While brewing beer!Cromwell [aside.] …ing beer! The villain!Murray. While brewing beer! The villain! And becauseChance served him well, he deems himself a Capet,A Moses, or a Cæsar, by my faith!

But that a Warwick should descend so lowAs to accept this pinchbeck king as cousin,Doth pass my comprehension!Cromwell [aside.] … my comprehension! Thou chameleon,That grovelled at my feet but yesterday!Murray [as if struck by a sudden thought.I' faith, I am an arrant simpleton!Cromwell.Wherein.Murray. Wherein. The while our falcons seize their prey,They leave me here, so that, as well may be,If guerdons be dispensed, they'll have them all!Cromwell [aside.Thou grasping knave!Murray. Thou grasping knave! Would they reserve for meMy portion due? I, an old sparrow-hawk,To cool my heels below! Nay, nay! I, too,Propose to earn my sovereign's gratitude.Cromwell.Believe me, you will not be overlooked.Murray.I choose to put my hand on the old devil,As well as they!Cromwell [aside.] … they! Go, then, in Heaven's name!Murray [pressing his hand.Thou renderest us a service past all price!But when the account is finally adjusted,I'll not forget thee; thou shalt be, I swear,A corporal! [Exit.Cromwell [alone, shrugging his shoulders.A corporal! Go, seek, and thou shalt find!A misbegotten courtier measure meBy his short rule! A strutting peacock screamAt the high-soaring eagle!

Manasseh [not seeing Cromwell.Cromwell and Charles the Second, PuritansAnd Cavaliers,—they're Christians, all of them!

God! 'tis that horrid Jew! Why comes he here?And from what tomb?Manasseh [still not seeing Cromwell, who listens.And from what tomb? Of the two rival parties,What matters it to me which gains the day?In either case good Christian blood will flowIn rivers; so at least I dare to hope.That is the merit of conspiracies.Whether Lord Ormond Oliver doth killOr Oliver doth foil him, on this spotThe destinies of both will be fulfilled.I fain would witness it. All things, meseems,Do threaten Cromwell—Cromwell [aside.] …en Cromwell Traitor!Manasseh [raising his eyes toward the sky.] Ay, all thingsExcept the stars in heaven. His end draws nigh,'Twould seem; but none the less his star shines onStill pure and bright; and vainly do I conThe lines that cross his hand: I see thereinNo danger to be feared—save for to-morrow.Cromwell.To-morrow! What says he? Now, by my faith,These damned astrologers are charlatans.E'en in their monologues!Manasseh. E'en in their monologues! What matters it?Ormond or Cromwell—one must be undone.

They'll soon be tearing at each other's throats.[Gazing at the starry shy.How lovely is the night!Cromwell [aside.] …ly is the night! This impious JewAfter yon babbling courtier! The vile crowSucceeds the magpie. Kuthless, undismayed,Without remorse, he hastens hitherward,To seek upon the field his feast of corpses.Manasseh [with his glass turned upon the sky.Meanwhile, till the conspirators appear,I'll study for a bit the curves describedBy Eta's satellites in Tau's domain.I'll knock upon the portal of the templeWith the sacred hammer.[He puts his eye to the telescope, then pauses.With the sacred hammer. Only twelve per cent!In this emergency, doubtless I mightHave forced from Ormond twofold usury.Cromwell [aside.]Banker to Cavaliers, and Cromwell's spy!Manasseh [with his eye at the telescope.The line is curved like a ram's horn, good lack!—But I've those caroluses from Cologne;And, clipped or not, good caroluses win.—In very truth, the eclipse, in that event—Ten on the dollars, on the ducats nine.Yes, Cromwell, Ormond, I beguile them both.

All goes well! are you on guard?Cromwell [impatiently, aside.Why must they interrupt me at this moment!None but the owls are frighted by their cry.But I must answer.

[Aloud.] All goes well! are you on guard?[At this shout the Jew turns with a start.Manasseh [aside.]Jacob! I did not see that sentinel!With what a cloud old age mine eyes hath veiled!The Voice of a Sentinel [in the distance.All goes well! are you on guard?Manasseh [approaching Cromwell with respect.Good-morrow, master soldier.Cromwell [aside.] …row, master soldier. Need that cryHave terrified him so? How he betrayed himself![Aloud.]Good-morrow, Jew.Manasseh [saluting again.] By Lord Ormond were youStationed upon this spot?Cromwell. Stationed upon this spot? What need hast thouThat I should answer yes, son of the prophets?Manasseh.To see you triumph I am overjoyed.So Cromwell falls at last; my compliments.Cromwell.Much thanks!Manasseh [bowing.] The power of the former kingsIs born again; what happiness for you!Cromwell.Aha!Manasseh. Aha! I give you joy. Doubtless you hopePromotion?Cromwell. Promotion? Yes. I'm to be corporal.Manasseh.A noble rank! You will be corporal,My friend! 'tis fine, indeed! A corporalCommands four men! superb! and shoulder-straps!Cromwell.Delightful!Manasseh. Delightful! I am charmed that Cromwell's fallDoth make your fortune, with the common joy,Good master soldier!Cromwell [aside.] …ter soldier! Hypocrite!Manasseh. Good master soldier! Hypocrite! At last,

Cromwell accurst, thy edict 'gainst the JewsThou needs must expiate! Thou hypocrite!Fanatic! miser![To Cromwell.Fanatic! miser! What a shameful thing!This king, this lord protector verifiedMy reckoning! Oh! do not speak to meOf crowned plebeians! in so circumscribedA sphere their minds are fixed! No brilliant fêtes,No games, no merry-makings—and no loans!And then what dealings one must have with them!You seize for their behoof a Swedish brig,They scrutinize your pockets and your fingers,And for the perils of the enterpriseLeave you at most three-quarters of the spoil.Cromwell.Why, that is fleecing you!Manasseh. Why, that is fleecing you! Ay, that's the word!Miserly kings! they know the difference'Twixt sequins and bezants!Cromwell. 'Twixt sequins and bezants! 'Tis horrible!Manasseh.Your Cromwell! bah! Why, did he not, forsooth,Upon a time presume to lay a fineOn me, for lending at some rate wherebyI fairly doubled my poor capital?Cromwell.A pity 'tis.Manasseh. A pity 'tis. 'Tis death to honest toil.Wherefore should he, the tyrant, interfere,I pray to know? What right had he to close,To please his followers, concerts and balls,Races and theatres, where eldest sons,Giv'n over to the joys that there abound,Did heedlessly rush onward to their ruin?To rob them of that right is 'gainst all law.Vindictive, crafty, cruel, miserly,—

He is a monster! England breathes againThrough you. Your generous arm doth set her freeFrom the worst tyrant hell can ever bear!—I do not say all this to flatter you.Cromwell.I am convinced of it.

I am convinced of it. Mere war machines!The coarsest flattery beguiles that heart!Cromwell [aside.How many masks conceal that odious face!I'll make him drop them all, each in its turn,Before my eyes.Before… [Aloud.]Wilt tell my fortune, Jew?Manasseh [bowing.]Reveal to you your future grandeur, here!Sir corporal, you do me too great honour.[Aside.]A beggarly recruit!}A beggar… [Aloud.] …recruit! You 're on the roadTo fortune.[Aside.] 'Tis to use a telescopeTo see a candle.To see… [Aloud.]As you will, fair sir.I 'll draw your horoscope; 'tis what we callIn Latin making an experiment.In anima vili.[Aside.]'Tis safe to floutThe blockhead to his very face in Latin.[Aloud.Give me your hand.—And let me tell you this:—Cromwell the villain—

Cromwell the villain— Ah! what hand is this!

I am a dead man![He falls at Cromwell's feet.Cromwell [smiling.] Ha! what dost thou there?What devil has his teeth in thee, eh, Jew?Manasseh [beating his head against the ground.I am a dead man!Cromwell. I am a dead man! Know'st thou who I am,Thou unclean Jew?Manasseh [in a faint voice.] Ah! 'tis in truth that hand,Of ample width to bear the whole wide world!Too well I recognize those lines whereonHeav'n doth inscribe no other name than Cromwell's.Your star did not say false.Cromwell. Your star did not say false. Hark ye, old man:You are but a poor worm, and, doubtless, I,Trying upon thy bones this polished steel,[He draws his dagger.Could in my turn make an experimentIn anima vili. But I do notWith my own hand a paltry earth-worm crush.Rise.

Rise. Sit thou there.

Rise. Sit thou there. Above all, hold thy peace.One word, and hence thy soul will take its flight,And thou'lt have ample leisure to completeThy dead men's alphabet!

Thy dead men's alphabet! This wretched Jew

In Ormond's service! Fate, which sends him hither,Mingles a night-owl with yon birds of prey![He walks to and fro, uttering a few words from time to time.My only crimes, it seems, if they say true,Are bowing awkwardly and reckoningToo well. But of the late King Charles the First,Or of the English charter—not a word![Putting his hand to the pocket of his doublet.What have I here that weighs so heavily?[He takes from his pocket the purse given him by Murray.Ah! 'tis the price of blood!—I had forgot:These gentry paid me for the privilegeOf murdering myself. Now let us seeIf they're entitled to my gratitude;Let's put a price on their munificence.The head of Cromwell,—how much is it worth?If they have paid me less than current rates,'Twere most uncivil, on my word.

'Twere most uncivil, on my word. Great God!My son's name on this purse! So he's the sourceOf this assassins' gold![Scrutinizing it carefully.] I do not err;Here is his crest! What proof is lacking nowThat he's a traitor? Ah! thou wretched child!And wretched father! Not content to bearHis part in their conspiracies, his partIn their repasts within their haunts impure,To urge them on, to drink to my own death,My son defrayed the cost of the death feast!He gave them gold wherewith to buy my head!And sharing all their pleasures, uncontrite,

He paid them for my death as for a fête![He throws the purse on the ground with a gesture of disgust.His recklessness leads on to parricide!But someone comes.[Enter Richard Cromwell, feeling his way in the darkness.

Richard [walking slowly toward the front of the stage.But someone comes. The night is none too bright.Cromwell [unseen by Richard.My son! Is't possible?Richard. My son! Is't possible? Set free at last!Cromwell [aside.] I doubt not, by the thieves to whom thou hastBetrayed thy father. In their blood-stained handsPlace thine fraternally!Richard [still without seeing Cromwell.Place thine fraternally! And this is dueTo having paid the sentry well.Cromwell [aside.] …ing paid the sentry well. Aha!He says it!Richard. He says it! I am free!Cromwell [aside.] …it! I am free! But at what price,Thou villain!Richard. Thou villain! True, it costs me dear, but IDetest ingratitude.Cromwell [aside.] …ingratitude. Ingratitude.To the paid cutthroat who doth leave thee freeTo kill thy father—that thou dost detest!Richard.Another frolic!Cromwell [aside.] …frolic! With what levityThis debauchee doth talk of murdering me!

Richard.My father sleeps.Cromwell [aside.] … sleeps. He sleeps!Richard. My father sleeps. He sleeps! He nought suspects.Cromwell [aside.]He's wide awake and listening to thee!Richard [laughing.]I shall entrap him shrewdly.Cromwell [aside.] …entrap him shrewdly. What a laugh,And what a crime! the villain comes to ask:"Is 't done?" Suppose I take upon myselfThe duty of chastising him?Richard [laughing.] … chastising him? Come, courage!To-morrow, when they find the bird has flown,How great will be the Saints' discomfiture!Cromwell [aside.]If I should poniard him with my own hand?

He is my son!Richard. He is my son! Our Cavaliers will laughTill they are like to burst, at th' escapade.Cromwell [aside.]He flaunts my very blood before my face![He takes another step.I'll strike!Richard. I'll strike! A lucky ending, by my faith.Cromwell [aside.]'Tis true!Richard. 'Tis true! My father ne'er would have consentedTo pardon me, I fear. But by this meansHis anger I escape.Cromwell [aside.] … I escape. Nay, thou shalt notEscape it, traitor! I must strike him down!No pity![He steps toward Richard, then hesitates.

No pity! But—He is my eldest-born!God gave him to me on a day of joy.'Tis my own blood this blade will cause to flow!In childhood, what a multitude of ills,Of care and pain, ay, and of happiness,He caused me!—For did I but appearBefore his eyes, joyous and radiantHe 'd stretch his little arms to their full lengthTo grasp my hands, while his whole body quiveredAs he had wings. Methought a star had gleamedBefore my eyes, when he did smile on me!Richard.So much the worse for him, for he 's a tyrant!Cromwell [aside.Ha! that word turns the scale; for when a sonTurns parricide, he is no more a son.[He creeps up behind Richard with his dagger uplifted.Die, traitor!

[Footsteps are heard by the postern.—Cromwellstops and turns.Die, traitor! But in yon dark passagesWhat sounds are these! 'Tis Ormond and his friendsReturning. I will follow up the threadOf my son's treachery; and afterwardWe will lay bare the whole dark tragedy.

Richard [unseen by the Cavaliers.These gentry have a questionable look.I'll stand apart.[He withdraws to the left, among the clumps of verdure.Murray [to Cromwell, with a triumphant air.I'll stand apart. Your Cromwell hath a bedWithout brocades! A paltry candle-endWas dying on his table. 'Twas so darkOne could not see one's self. He did not move,Thanks to his lethargy, when we did seize him;We gagged him quietly, and here he is.Cromwell.Ah! this is he?Richard [aside.] … is he? What means this?Clifford. Ah! this is he? What means this? Victory!We hold him fast.Richard [aside.] …him fast. What says he?Downie. We hold him fast. What says he? The worst taskIs done!—The night is dark. Let 's lose no time.Forward!

Forward! Well?Rosebery [to Downie.] 'Tis a simple thing to sayFor one who has no burden on his back.Sedley [to Downie.]As, to attain our purposed destination,

We've no relays, we needs must rest awhile.Richard [aside.]I know these voices.

I know these voices. Yonder Cromwell lies!Dread chastisement of his unheard-of crime!He 's in our hands, this giant of renown,In whom, more than in God, the world hath seemedTo rest its faith!—Yes, it is he himself.What station does he hold here at our feet?No man hath power enough or craft enoughTo steal away this sinner from his judge.All fled before him; now he hath no placeOf refuge.—Ah! ill-fated warrior!Wherein hath it advantaged thee to holdA nation in thy chains these fifteen years?To fight so fiercely, pierce so many shields,Replace the ancient Stuart name with thine,To reign by hatred, horror and affright,And make of Whitehall a king's calvary?How great a burden at this fateful hourAre all these crimes, sealed with the royal crown!Cromwell, how wilt thou render thy account?When thou wert powerful thee I abhorred,Vanquished I pity thee. Alas! that IMight not in battle make thee bite the dust!But what a fall! to take thee prisonerWithout a victory! a bloodless triumph!We must resign ourselves. The sword gives placeTo daggers. What a mighty head Fate castsInto the scales upon the Stuart side!Richard [aside.]What mean these words? I'll listen and speak not.Cromwell [aside.]This Ormond I esteem. Nobly he speaks.

A soldier's heart doth ne'er belie itself.Murray [to Ormond, pointing to the prisoner.Your Grace doth too much honour to yon knave!Cromwell [aside.]Base courtier!Downie [to the prisoner's bearers.]Damnation! let us go.Drogheda.One moment, pray! he weighs as much alreadyAs he were dead.Sedley. As he were dead. 'Tis very difficultTo bear this cargo safely into port.Let us take counsel. What 's to do with it?Clifford.Let 's kill him here, and have done with th' affair.Drogheda.Ay, let us kill him.Sedley. Ay, let us kill him. 'Tis the quickest way.Richard [aside.]What devil's advocates! Who is the man?Cromwell [aside.The harpoon's fast; now let them have the line.

This spectacle alleviates my woes.They 're going to kill each other; that 's a comfort!Clifford [waving his sword over Rochester.Is it agreed?Jenkins [holding Clifford's arm.]How now! good gentlemen,Without a verdict, witnesses or judge,Without the forms of law, and without process?'Tis murder pure and simple! Harsh words these;But are you, pray, by special ordinance,A court of justice or a martial court?Where, that the laws be kept inviolate,Are your commissions, sealed with the great seal?

Which is attorney? which is president?I see no counsel pleading on each side,One for the accused, the other for the Crown.What safeguards of the law surround you here?Know you enough of Latin to give judgment,Confront the witnesses and question them?In formal phraseology pronounceThe sentence to the hurdle or the gallows?How many days since you began your term?How will you date your sentence? Furthermore,What is the corpus delicti? And whereAre the conspirators? The overt actsWhereon you base the penalty imposed—What are they?—'Tis the laws that I defend,Not Cromwell.—Him, albeit still untried,I deem him guilty. The allegiance dueThe King his lord and master he forgot;A case anticipated by the law,Which in its vengeance smites the guilty man,Qui lædit in rege majestatem Dei.In fine, he England's laws hath disobeyed.Their sacredness the better to attest'Twere well that from its trunk the felon's headShould severed be; but all formalitiesMust be observed. You cannot thus condemn him.Functions you claim, the which are never joined.To be at once a witness and accuser,To be both judge and executioner,Is palpably absurd! and my poor voiceIn the law's name protests against this crime!Cromwell [aside.]Ha! there spoke Jenkins, th' upright magistrate!Clifford [to the Cavaliers, with a scornful gesture.What says the fellow in his piping voice?

Drogheda [to Jenkins, with a hurt expression.Doctor, methinks you take us for a packOf pettifogging lawyers?Downie. Of pettifogging lawyers? Do you aimTo sit as judge in the King's Bench, good sir?Sedley [laughing.]When first did night-owl to the goshawk say:[Imitating Jenkins's voice and gestures."Let us hold court forthwith and try the viper!"Rosebery [laughing.]He's talking Latin!Murray. He's talking Latin! Drat such senseless talk!Clifford.My dagger is the court of last resort!Now let us strike!Cromwell [aside.] … strike! Now let us let them strike.All the Cavaliers.Let us have done.

Jenkins [gravely.] …ve done. I solemnly protest.Richard.God! what a shocking scene! Is it a dream?Clifford [pushing Jenkins away.Protest at your sweet will!Ormond [checking Clifford.]Stay, my Lord Clifford;The doctor 's right; I heartily approve.The King's explicit orders bid me bringOur captive living; you must needs submit.Clifford [to Ormond.]But in that case, if we would take him hence,We shall be forced to fight a hundred battles.Downie.And when he's over yonder, living still,I prithee will the King bestow him thenIn his menagerie, duly ticketed?Drogheda. Oh! we'll present him with the beast all stuffed.

Clifford [to Ormond.]When once the sword is drawn, then, good my lord,We needs must strike. We have but this brief hour;Let 's make the most of it. He 's in our hands,This Cromwell—let him die!All the Cavaliers [except Ormond and Jenkins.This Cromwell—let him die! Ay, let him die!Jenkins [solemnly.]I do protest!Richard [intensely excited, aside.]They mean to kill my father!O Heav'n![He rushes into the midst of the Cavaliers.O Heav'n Hold, murderers!All the Cavaliers. O Heav'n Hold, murderers! 'Tis Richard Cromwell!Cromwell [aside.]What doth he?Richard [to the Cavaliers.]Stay your hands! In pity's name,If of our former friendship there remainsA vestige in your hearts, then, Rosebery,Sedley and Downie, list to me, I pray!Murray [impatiently.]Damnation!Richard. Damnation! Spare my father!Sedley. Damnation! Spare my father! Did he spareHis king?Richard. His king? Ah! that, I doubt not, was a crime;But am I guilty? Should I be the victim?In striking him, you strike me, too, my friends.Cromwell [aside.]Can this be Richard, heartless parricide?I am nonplust.Rosebery [to Richard.]We love you like a brother;But duty must be done, whate'er betide.Richard.You shall not kill my father!Cromwell [aside.] … not kill my father! He defends me!What happiness! I had misjudged my child.

Richard [to the Cavaliers.Was it to serve this execrable endThat you invited Richard to your board?That we were sworn allies in everything,Gaming and revelry and gallantry?And that my purse was ever at your service?And now compare what I have done for you,My jovial friends, with what you do to me!Rosebery [to the Cavaliers, in an undertone.Is he not right?Jenkins [to Richard.] Well said, young man, i' faith!But bear upon the radical defectOf the affair: they 're not within the law.Plead well the cause—plead! plead!Richard [to Jenkins.] …cause—plead! plead! But, my good sir—Jenkins.With you I do oppose this step.Richard [to the Cavaliers, clasping his hands.With you I do oppose this step. My friends—Cromwell [aside.]I see the whole affair more justly now.My son! ah! how unjust I was to him!Certes, of this dark plot no more he knewThan that the plotters gathered to carouse.Ormond [to Richard.]Your father played with us, sir, for high stakes:Alike we staked our heads. And he has lost.Richard.Great God! you would in truth strike down the fatherThe while his son looks on![He cries with all his strength.The while his son looks on! Help! murder! help![To the Cavaliers.I have no other hope than in myself.[He shouts again.

Help, soldiers! help!Murray. Help, soldiers! help! The soldiers are with us.Richard.Ah well! then I alone defy you all![He puts his hand to his side to draw his sword.How now! my hand th' avenging blade doth lack!Father, why didst thou take away my sword?Cromwell [aside.]Poor Richard!Ormond [to Richard.] Sir, I truly grieve for you.Take my advice:—withdraw; leave the King's menTo do their will.Richard. To do their will. To do your will? O Heaven!I ask no mercy. Kill me here with him,Upon his body!

Cromwell [aside.] Upon his body! Ah! he goes too far;'Twould be too barbarous that he should die,Of his own motion, with a spurious Cromwell!Rosebery [trying to sooth Richard.Richard—Richard [still clinging to Rochester.Richard—No! strike me with your heartless blades,Or I will save him!

Rochester [waking with a start and joining in the struggle.Or I will save him! 'Sdeath! You're choking me![All paused as if turned to stone.Ormond. Great Heaven! what voice is that I hear?

Richard [recoiling.] … what voice is that I hear? The spy!All the Cavaliers.'Tis Rochester!Rochester [to Richard.'Tis Rochester! Are you the hangman, pray?.You strangle me, my friend, as if I hadTwo souls to render up. In Heaven's name,Cannot you do more gently your devoir,Act with the victim more in good accord,And hang one without squeezing one so tight?Ormond [in dismay.]'Tis Rochester!

'Tis Rochester! The rope is round my neck;But what—I see no gallows. Can it beThey'd hang me, like a screech-owl, to a nail?Ormond.But where is Cromwell, then?Cromwell [stepping forward, in a voice of thunder.But where is Cromwell, then? Cromwell is here!Forth from your tents, O Jacob! Israel,Forth from your tents!

Murray [terror-stricken.]Cromwell! and scores of soldiers, glist'ning arms!I am a dead man!The Cavaliers. I am a dead man! Treachery! betrayed!Ormond [gazing at Rochester and Cromwell in turn.Cromwell!—and Rochester!Rochester [rubbing his eyes.] …ter! Have I been hangedAlready? Can it be that I 'm in hell?Yon glittering palace and these solemn ghosts,And hordes of imps who flaring torches wave—'Tis hell, in sooth! Wilmot had little hopeOf Heaven.[Looking at Cromwell.Of Heaven. Ay, and yonder's Satan, too.He much resembles Cromwell, by my faith!Cromwell [to Thurloe and Lord Carlisle, pointing to the Cavaliers.Arrest these men!

Ormond [breaking his sword across his knee.Arrest these men! No man shall have my sword.Richard [aside.] What means all this? My latest escapadeWill bring upon me some new punishment.I've broken my arrest; I am undone.Rochester [looking about him with a bewildered air.Why, here are Rosebery, Downie, Drogheda!I shall at least roast in good company.—

Ha! and the Jew Manasseh who redeemedClifford from pawn! I doubt not he'll be cookedIn his own strong-box.—Well-a-day! MeseemsWe all are dead and all are damned together![To the Cavaliers.Good-even, friends! Come, let us laugh to scornOld Satan who convokes us. Let us giveHell to the devil, and flout him to his face.Ormond.In what a fatal snare we are enmeshed!Rochester [to the Cavaliers.Our goodly plans have had but ill success;With lethe Cromwell hath bedrugged our wine.

Cromwell [glancing at Ormond, aside.I knew not Ormond. His demeanor dothCompel respect, ay, in my own despite.Ormond [his eyes fixed upon Cromwell, aside.How he did cozen us! What craft and mettle!Cromwell [aside.]Ormond alone dares look me in the face.A noble foeman he! he had a mission,And would fulfill it. I will speak to him.[He goes to Ormond and eyes him haughtily.[Aloud.]Thy name?Ormond. Thy name? Is Bloum.Thy name? … [Aside.]Dying, I do not chooseThat he shall know that he was Ormond's master.Cromwell [aside.]From pride he hides his name.[Aloud.] … he hides his name. Who art thou, say?Ormond.Nought but a subject 'gainst thee in revolt,For England and his gracious Majesty.

Cromwell.What dost thou think of me?Ormond. What dost thou think of me? Say'st thou of thee, Cromwell?Cromwell.Say on.Ormond. Say on. Things that one may not writeSave with the sword.Cromwell. Save with the sword. A trenchant argument:Its only flaw is this: the gallows dothSometimes make answer to the sword.Ormond. Sometimes make answer to the sword. What odds?Cromwell.So thou art led by thirst for blood alone?Ormond.To punish with the sword the regicideI came.Cromwell. I came. To punish, prithee, by what right?Ormond. By the lex talionis.Cromwell. By the lex talionis. Darest thouEnter the lion's den?Ormond. Enter the lion's den? The tiger's, rather.Cromwell.Venture thy head upon the very spotWhere the Protector has his domicile?Ormond.I prithee, Cromwell, say the regicide.Cromwell.The regicide!—always the regicide!It is their word, their only argument,Proffered on all occasions, at all times!Do I deserve that name of regicide?The people an illegal tax refused;I was inflexible, Charles ill-advised.His fall a blessing was, death a mishap.Virtues he had, and them I venerate.In fine, it was my fate to smite the King,While praying for the man.Ormond. While praying for the man. Out, hypocrite!Thou dost not cozen me.Cromwell. Thou dost not cozen me. Upon this pointWe differ in opinion, that is clear.

Ormond.Thy place is kept for thee, by Ravaillac.Cromwell.Old man, by hate thy heart is borne too far.Thy grey hairs should inspire more gentle thoughts.Cromwell a Ravaillac! Canst thou compareWith that base hand the hand that moves the world,With the assassin's knife a people's axe?We the same point attain from hell and heav'n.Blood branded Cain and Samuel adorned.Ormond.But Ravaillac, of infamous renown,—-Hath he not to commend him all one needsTo share thy glory? Like thyself he causedThe death of a just king; what lacks he, pray?Cromwell.He struck too low; a king should ne'er be struckSave at the neck.Ormond. Save at the neck. O my beloved master!O Charles! in all his glory he appearsBefore my weeping eyes![To Cromwell, repulsing him.Before my weeping eyes! Again I say,Out of my sight, you, whose impious handDared touch a king's majestic head!Cromwell. Dared touch a king's majestic head! Go to!Blood sometimes stains, and sometimes purifies.[Aside.]How now! he doth accuse me and I pleadMy cause. I suffer him to make parade,With knee unbended, of his idiot's virtueAnd of his madman's honour! In good soothHe knows not whither, in its tyranny,Genius is sometimes borne by destiny.I'll leave this hopeless case.[He turns his back on Ormond and accosts Jenkins.I'll leave this hopeless case. What! Doctor Jenkins,[Pointing to Ormond and Murray.

Among these madmen,[Pointing to Sedley, Clifford and Rochester.Among these madmen, And these runagates!You, the wise man, and just!Jenkins [gravely.] …se man, and just! 'Tis in your powerTo speak in this wise, ay, and worse, mayhap.Cromwell.You, Jenkins, to my countenance preferredThe privilege of sharing with these dreamersA punishment that must be exemplary.Jenkins.Oh! by your leave, friend Cromwell, let us notConfuse two things: you may avenge yourself,But cannot punish us. It much importsIn all things to define the words we use.Tyrannus non judex—a tyrant's notA judge. If by some traitor's furtherance,Some renegade's, you've proved yourself to beThe shrewder in this contest; if you haveThe force, nathless the right is on our side.You may deprive us of the law's protectionBy violence,—what matters it? We die,But die against our will, de facto only.Consult your own attorneys on this point,Whitelocke, Pierpoint and Maynard; I referThe question to your chosen counsellors.Albeit Whitelocke hath a system false,And Maynard and Pierpoint do often pleadIn Reynard's favour 'gainst the poultry-yard.Cromwell.Good! of the gibbet you shall have your share.Jenkins.So be it. But I pray you to observeHow great is our advantage over you.To an angry despot's gibbet we shall go;

You to the pillory of future ages![Cromwell shrugs his shoulders.Rochester [still only half awake.Where are my wits?—If I am not asleep,Certes, I'm dead. But Cromwell puzzles me.Already here! 'Twas only yesterdayI left him up on earth.[Addressing the soldiers who surround him.I left him up on earth. Might I not changeMy dream, or else my hell? Deliver meFrom Noll! you seem to be good fellows all.

Look you: the projects that you had in mindWere most incredible. What! capture CromwellIn a child's trap, and murder him! Go to!For your triumphant swords, my gentlemen,Would not have treated me, before yon gate,As David treated Saul within the cave;No one of you the function of his bladeWould have confined to clipping my cloak's hem.I know. 'Tis plain enough, and I approve.But while approving, truth to say, methinksYour project might perchance have been conceivedMore shewdly; that, in fine, the woof thereofWas of too frail a tissue. By ill luckI knew it not, my brethren, till too lateMy ideas to make known to you thereon;Be not offended, pray. You must, in sooth,Have laboured stoutly to devise the scheme.But I, like Joshua who was undismayedBy the combined assault of twenty kings,Have cut the ham-strings of your steeds of war.We all have acted as 'twas meet we should:

Me you attacked, I did myself defend.As for your project taken in itself,I love these outbursts of a faithful heart;Courage doth smile upon me, and bold featsOf daring do rejoice my very soul.Albeit your success was incomplete,I place you no less high in my esteem.Your hearts are moved by loftiest sentiments;Onward you march with firm and equal step;You faltered not, nor trembled, nor turned pale;You are—accept my compliments sincere—My chosen foes, foes worthy of my steel.Nought do I see in you to be despised,In fine, too highly do I value you—To spare you.—My esteem for you would fainDisplay itself in public; I attest it,By having you all hanged.—No thanks, I beg.Forgive me, rather, that I join with you,On the same scaffold,[Pointing to the panic-stricken Murray.On the same scaffold, Yonder whining braggart,The coward who doth listen while I speak,Albeit he 's not worth the rope to hang him!He should give thanks to you, for but for youHe would not have been honoured with my wrath.[Pointing to Manasseh, who has not moved.Bear with me if I add yon noisome JewUnto your company. 'Tis hard, I know,To mingle deicides with Christian men,Or a Barabbas with right-minded thieves!I will arrange to hang him lower down.And now I crave your pardon, one and all,For that I do so ill requite your kindness;I give that which I have. I know full well

That what I do for you is very little!—Go now; prepare to settle your accountsWith God. We all are sinners, my good friends.—A few brief hours hence, when dawning dayShall lighten these old walls, you 'll all be hanged!—Go.—Pray for me.

Go.—Pray for me. Let Westminster at onceBe put in readiness. Now I am king!

Gramadoch.Well! what say you?Giraff [laughing.] …ay you? 'Tis more and more absurd.Elespuru.A scene from t'other world displayed in this.Trick.'Tis downright mad, burlesque, incredible.Giraff.A merry and amazing spectacle.—Cromwell laid bare, to see! the smokeless fire,Beelzebub without his smiling mask!

Gramadoch.'Mongst all the actors in this play grotesqueWhich is the maddest? Let's award the prize.Trick.Murray, who, crushing Cromwell with his scorn,Turns in a pirouette from Noll to Charles,And for his banner takes a weather-cock.Giraff.The palm is Richard's, son of Belial,Dying for Rochester through filial love.Trick.If Cromwell had slain Richard in his rage,It had been well.Giraff. It had been well. Ay, but the play is done.Trick.'Tis pity!Gramadoch. 'Tis pity! So to Richard you awardThe prize fool's bauble, and the laurel wreathOf our profession?Elespuru. Of our profession? I do much preferGood Doctor Jenkins' learned simplicity..Trick.And Ormond giving Cromwell moral lessons!Is 't not diverting? I would rather chooseTo teach a lawyer justice, or to combA polar bear, or milk a pantheress,Or sweep Vesuvius's red-hot crater.Giraff.And the vile Jew, who in this moral dramaIs not the least important character!That rabbi-spy, magician-usurer,Who, gloating o'er his caroluses' charms,Comes with his lantern to consult the stars.Elespuru.Amphibious beast, a stranger to both camps,That Jew came hither even as the batThat flies amid the darkness of a tomb.Giraff.Herein the simile is the more apt,That Noll will have him nailed upon a crossBefore some portal, like a monstrous fan.

Trick.Thus, then, the bluster of the CavaliersDoth Cromwell punish! To his gallows, friends,He has more ropes than one.Gramadoch. He has more ropes than one. Although he bearsA world upon his neek, of all of thoseOf whom we speak, he, Cromwell is the maddest.He 'd still be king, and death is at his door.

Giraff [to Gramadoch.What say'st thou?Gramadoch. What say'st thou? You will see.Trick [to Gramadoch.] … You will see. But tell me, pray—Gramadoch.Nay, later.Elespuru [to Gramadoch.Nay, later. But what matters it to thee?Gramadoch [shaking his head.A mystery's an egg—list, an you please—The which one must not break, if one would haveA chicken. Stay.—This Cromwell, unto whomAll things propitious seem, if he doth takeThis final step, then he doth hurl himselfOver the precipice. There death awaits him.Be at his coronation: you will see;And you will laugh! Surely he is more mad,Than all these dwarfs he crushes 'neath his feet,—A hundred times more mad, say I, becauseHe deems himself the wisest of mankind.Trick.To close the competition, the most mad,Even including Cromwell, gentlemen,Are we ourselves. For is it sensibleTo waste in this affair the precious hoursWe might employ in doing nought, in sleeping,Singing to echo of our tedium,Or gazing at the moon from out a well?[Exeunt.