To compass such intent, the very thought
Had been a treason. But the words fell straight
Midst our unconscious hearts, unprompted, quick,
Startling even him who spake them-like the fire
That lit the Burning Bush. A sign from Heaven!
Direct from Heaven! A comfortable light
To our benighted spirits! As I wrestled
In prayer this morning, when I would have cried
For mercy on Charles Stuart, my parched tongue
Clave to my mouth. A token from on high!
A star lit up to guide us!
Mar.
Yet the Commons
Will scarcely echo this rapt strain. The King
Hath friends amongst us.
Fear not. He who sent This impulse on his servants will know how To turn all hearts.
Ye will not slay the King?
Crom. Life hangs not on our lips. Yet surely, sir, I hope to spare him. Friends, we must not sleep Over such stirring business. Downes, go thou For Bradshaw, that resolved, and fearned, and wise, And godly law-man. Thou art like to find him At the Guildhall. Say we would speak with him. [Exit Downes. Harrison!-Downes went forth as one who loves not His errand-Lacks he zeal? "T is a brave soldier, And yet-Follow him, Marten; and return With Bradshaw hither. We shall need thy counsel. Delay not[Exit Marten. Harrison! thou truest soldier Of the good cause, to thee we trust the charge Of guarding our great prisoner. Make thee ready For a swift journey. I'll confer with thee Alone afore thou goest.
And the whole game is ours! But-Which way blows The wind?
The King before the Council?
Crom.
Sir, we need
The Commons' name. I would not that our just
And righteous cause lacked any form of law
To startle tender consciences. I have thought
Afore of this. Didst never see the thrasher
Winnow the chaff from the full grain? Good Colonel,
Thyself shalt play the husbandman, to cleanse
This sample of foul corn. Take yonder scroll,
And with a troop of horse, go post thyself
Beside the Commons' door, and seize each man
Whose name stains that white parchment. Treat all
well,
But let none enter.
That I employ the mercenary tool;
But we are in our great aims justified,
Our high and holy purpose. Saints and prophets
Have used uncleanly instruments. Good son,
Keep between Fairfax and these men. The weak
Wife-ridden faintling would demur and dally,
And pause at every step, and then draw back,
Unapt for good or ill. He must know nought.
Re-enter Harrison and Pride.
What make ye here again?
Pri.
(During the next few speeches, Cromwell walks up and down the stage, now speaking to himself, now looking at the weather, now asking questions without attending to the answers, evidently absorbed in thought.) Crom. Ay, the light Mercurial Harry Marten said but sooth; They are unripe for this great charge. It shall be Stir up the soldiery. And yet-What is the hour?
A mutiny amongst the soldiers.
Har.
Nay,
But half-a-score malignants, who would fain
Seize the traitors. Shoot them dead; | Yet, Sire,-forgive my fear!-would thou had'st ta'en murmur, still them too. Let death The proffered means of safety, had escaped Follow offence as closely as the sound The island prison!
Crom. Well!-Go thou too, fair son! away!
I'll follow on the instant. Look I find
The guilty quiet. [Exeunt Harrison and Ireton.
We have been too easy,
And fostered malcontents. Yet this swift vengeance
Will strike a wholesome terror, and the echo
May reach to higher miscreants. Good Colonel,
Thou loiterest overlong. Go, block the door,
And let none pass. Be sure thou let none pass.
I must to yon poor traitors. Let none pass. [Exeunt.
An Apartment in Carisbrooke Castle.
The King and Herbert.
What! when I had pledged
My word, my royal word! Fie! fie! good Herbert;
Better, if danger were, a thousand fold
Perish even here than forfeit that great bond
Of honour, a King's word. Fie! fie! Yet sooth
Thou mean'st me kindly, Herbert. Ha! the Sea,
That day and night hath chafed so angrily,
Breaking around us with so wild a coil,
An elemental warder, smiles again,
Merrily dancing in the cold keen light
Of the bright wintery Sun. We shall have boats
From England.
Herb.
One hath landed, Sire.
King.
And they
May bear my message without pause. Who comes?
Enter Hammond. •
Ham. May't please you, Sire, the high Commis
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Enter Lord Salisbury, Lord Say, Sir Harry Vane,
and other Commissioners, some of them Ministers..
See, Vane hath lost his frown! We shall have peace..
Good morrow, my good Lord of Salisbury!
Lord Say, Sir Harry Vane, and gentles all,
A fair good morrow. The sun smiles at last
King.
Put up my book. I wait Upon our meeting.
The grave Commissioners, and to be seen
Say.
Sunshine after storm;
Poring o'er Shakspeare's page-Oh heinous sin! A happy omen, Sire, a type of peace.
Inexpiable deadly sin!
Why I have fed my thoughts
On the sweet woodland tale, the lovely tale
Of Ardenne Forest, till the peaceful end,
The gentle comfortable end, hath bathed
My very heart in sunshine. We are here
Banished as the old Duke, and friends come round,
And foes relent, and calm Forgiveness hangs,
An Angel, in the air, to drop her balm
On all our wounds. I thank thee, royal spirit,
Thrice princely poet, from whose lightest scene
Kings may draw comfort. Take yon sprig of bay
And lay between the leaves. I marvel much
Where loiter the Commissioners.
Salis. Yet clouds are gathering.
Say.
Will overcome them.
Cease this heathenish talk
Of omens. Hath your grace prepared your answer
To the proposals of the Commons ?
King.
Yon paper, Herbert. Set ye forth to-day?
Vane. With the next tide.
King.
So speed ye wind and wave,
And send ye swiftly hence, and swifter back,
Blest messengers of peace, winged like the dove
That bore the olive token. Take my answer,
A frank compliance with each article
Save twain, save only twain.
Say.
And they-I pray thee
Be wholly gracious, Sire! Peril not thus
Your country's weal, your freedom, and your crown,
By timeless reservation.
King.
I have yielded
Power and prerogative, and state and wealth,
For my dear country. All that was mine own,
All that was mine to give, I freely gave;
That I withhold is of the conscience. Look
On these white hairs, and think if one so signed,
Marked for the grave, may for the vain respect
Of crowns or kingdoms offer up his friends
Or his old worship. Mark me: I'll not yield
A man of that devoted seven, nor bate
A word of my accustomed prayer, to save
My limbs from cankering fetters, or win back
A crowned King of treason! I am here
Treating with these same Commons on the faith,
The general faith of nations. I appeal
To thee, my foes; to thee, my gaoler. What!
Stand ye all mute? high lords and learned lawmen,
And reverend ministers? Ye had glib tongues
For subtle argument, and treasonous craft,
And cobweb sophistry. Have ye no word
For faith, for honour? not one word? Shame! shame! Vane. We are the Commons' servants, and must needs
Of deep despair. Thine errand. Stop! Who sent Confronted in that regal Hall, the King
And his revolted subjects, whoso then
Shall be the Judge? The King. Whoso make inquest,
Whoso condemn, and whoso fling a pardon,
A scornful pardon on your heads? The King.
The King, I tell ye, Sirs. Come on! I pant
To meet these Judges. For ye, solemn mockers,
Grave men of peace, deceivers or deceived,
Sincere or false, boots little, fare ye well!
Yet give me yon vain treaty-Now, by Heaven,
Ishame to have communed with ye! This slight paper,
That shivers at a touch, is tough and firm
Mated with such as ye. Bear to the Commons,
Your masters, yon torn fragments, fitting type
Of their divided factions!-fitting type
Of ye, men of a broken faith! Farewell!
I wait thy pleasure, Sir.
Why, on the battle-day such loss might cause
An hour's perplexity. Now-Hark
Passing awhile Lord Fairfax's door, I saw
The Queen.
Ire. In England! Didst thou see her face?
Crom. No. But I knew her by the wanton curls,
The mincing delicate step of pride, the gait
Erect and lofty. "T was herself, I say,
Vain Jezebel!
Dow. Poor lady!
Crom. (Asi 'e.) Ha! And must we watch thee, too?
No word of this, good Sirs. (Going to the table.)
Why, master Cook,
What needs this long indictment? Seems to me
Thou dost mistake our cause. The crime is not
A trivial larceny, where some poor thief
Is fenced and hemmed in by a form of words
In tedious repetition, endless links
Of the strong chain of law, lest at some loophole
The paltry wretch escape. We try a King,
In the stern name of Justice. Fling aside
These cumbering subtleties, this maze of words,
And in brief homely phrase, such as the soldier
May con over his watchfire, or the milk-maid
Wonderingly murmur as she tends her kine,
Thou art right. Thou art right. Our fair intent needs not a veil. Be sure He shall have noble trial and speedy, such As may beseem a King.
Crom. Resolved and confident. Lately at Windsor, Eating a Spanish melon of choice flavour,
He bade his servant Herbert send the seeds
To be sowed straight at Hampton.
Mar. Plant acorns for their successors; this King sets A gourd.
Crom. The Prophet's gourd. We are all mortal. Sow but a grain of mustard, the green thing Which soonest springs from death to life, and thou Shalt wither ere the leaflets shoot.
Deems that ye dare not try him.
How soon dost thinkCrom.
Brad. Cromwell!
Was 't not the plash of oars?
He hears thee not. His sense rejects
All sound save that for which with such intense And passionate zeal he listens. See his cheek Quivers with expectation. Its old hue
Of ruddy brown is gone.
Hark! Hark! my masters!
He is come! He is come! We are about to do
A deed which shall draw on us questioning eyes
From the astonished nations. Men shall gaze,
Afeard and wondering on this spot of earth,
As on a comet in the Heavens, fatal
To kings of old. Start ye! Why at the first
I started, as a man who in a dream
Sees indistinct and terrible grim forms
Of death and danger float before his glazed
And wondering eyes; but then as one who wakes,
The inspiring light fell on me, and I saw
The guiding hand of Providence visibly
Beckoning to the great combat. We are His soldiers,
Following the Cloud by day, the Fire by night-
And shall we not be constant? We are arrayed
Against the stiff combined embodied spirits
Of prelacy and tyranny-Shall we not
Be bold?
(The King, Herbert, Harrison, &c. pass the window.) See! See! he passes! So shall pass
The oppressor from the earth. His very shadow,
The very traces of his foot are gone,
And the English ground is free, the English air
Free, free! All praise be to his mighty name!
This is the crowning work. [The Scene closes.
This clamorous din of female tongues so near
The prison of the King? The Lady Fairfax!
Queen. Cromwell!
A Gallery leading to the King's Prison.
The Queen, Lady Fairfax, a Sentinel.
Lady Fairfax. Another guard! The pass-word that Yet open yonder door, and I'll pray for thee
All my life long. Yon churlish sentinel
Crom. Did but his duty. Lead her to her husband.
Queen. Be quick! Be quick!
A rank idolater; a mumming masquer;
A troller of lewd songs; a wanton dancer;
A vain upholder of that strength of Satan
The playhouse. They that be so eminent
As thou will find maligners; 't is the curse
Of our poor fallen nature. Be not seen
Who art thou, Hovering about these walls. I speak in love
Of the Lord General.
Lady F.
I am of Cromwell's soldiers,
The Lord General,
And many a godly minister, and I,
Weak woman though I be, mourn that these walls
Should come between the King and people. Peace
Had been a holier bond.
Crom.
Peace! that our General,
The good Lord Fairfax, Captain of the guard,
Should tend the popish ladies to their mass;—
A high promotion! Peace! that every dungeon
May swarm with pious ministers;-forget they
Their old oppressions? Peace! that the grave matron,
The Lady Fairfax, may with troubled thoughts
Sit witness of lewd revels; mock and scorn
Of the light dames of the chamber, and the lordlings
Their gallants;-popinjays who scoff and jeer
At the staid solemn port, the decent coif,
The modest kerchief. I have heard such jeers
When yon gay Queen hath laughed.
Queen. I thought I heard him. Charles! my Charles! A Deborah, a Judith!
My King! My Husband!
Sent.
There are many chambers
Between thee and the King. I prythee hence!
Lady F. Madam, take patience.
Queen.
Charles! He must be dead That the trial shall be bloody? He who reads
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