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Now

I am ready. Speak your doom, and quickly.
Brad.

Thou art adjudged to die. Sirs, do ye all
Accord in this just sentence?

King.

Death.

Heart-broken. Then, for well thou know'st him,
Cromwell,

Bid him to think on me, and how I fell

Hewn in my strength and prime, like a proud cak.
The tallest of the forest, that but shivers

(The Judges all stand up. His glorious top and dies. Oh! thou shalt envy,
I am ready.
In thy long agony, my fall, that shakes
A kingdom, but not me.
Crom.

To a grey head, aching with royal cares,
The block is a kind pillow. Yet once more-

He is possessed!

Brad. Silence. The sentence is pronounced; the My good Lord President, the day wears on

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My subject-judges I could weep; for thee,
Beloved and lovely country. Thou wilt groan
Under the tyrant Many, till some bold
And crafty soldier, one who in the field
Is brave as the roused lion, at the Council
Watchful and gentle as the couchant pard,
The lovely spotted pard, what time she stoops
To spring upon her prey; one who puts on,
To win each several soul, his several sin,
A stern fanatic, a smooth hypocrite;
A fierce republican, a coarse buffoon,
Always a great bad man; till he shall come,
And climb the vacant throne, and fix him there,
A more than King. Cromwell, if such thou know'st,
Tell him the rack would prove an easier couch
Than he shall find that throne; tell him the crown
Of an Usurper's brow will scorch and burn,
As though the diamonded and ermined round
Were framed of glowing steel.

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The Lords Commissioners refuse

To sign the warrant. He'll escape us yet.
Crom. Refuse! What, all?

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Overhot! But that's
A fault may pass for virtue. Overcold's
Your modish sin. Weakness or treachery!
Peters or Judases! They'll treat. They'll treat.
Where lies thy regiment?

Ire.
At Westminster.
One glance of their bright swords, one stirring note
Of their war-trumpet, and these dastard Judges-
I'll seek them instantly.

Crom.

Son, thou mistak'st.
Foul shame it were here in a Christian land
To govern by brute force-How many hast thou?
Ire. A thousand horse.
Crom.
Or turn their very guards
Against the Judges-Be they trusty?
Ire.

I'll answer for them as myself.
Crom.

No force, good son! No force!

Sir,

Nay, go not.

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Har.

They gave him

And they are answered, Sir.
Thou know'st that Cromwell singly put them down,
As they had been young babes.
Dow.

Crom. Pshaw!

The pensionary

Dow. Hath sent pressing missives; Embassies From every court are on the seas; and Charles Proffers great terms.

Crom.
Cook,

Have we not all?

But he

Will give a fair security, a large
And general amnesty. So we are freed
From fear of after-reckoning.

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No wonder that a lawyer pleads to-day
Against his cause of yesterday-if feed

To the height. But thou art not of us; thy part
Is o'er.

Mar. He will give large securities!
For what?

Dow. The general safety and our own.
Mar. Safety!-say liberty! Securities.
Marry, large promises! An ye will trust,
Ye may be Earls and Marquesses, and portion
This pretty islet England as a manor
Amongst ye. Shame ye not to think a bribe
Might win your souls from freedom?

Har.
From the Lord!
Would you desert His people? sell for gain
His cause?

Crom. Hush! hush! none thinketh to forsake
The cause!

Tich. Let Bradshaw sign. What need more names Than the Lord President's?

Brad.

I am ready, Sirs,
An ye will follow me; the instrument
Were else illegal. When ye are prepared.
Speak.

Crom. My good masters, ye remember me
Of a passage of my boyhood.

(Then aside to Bradshaw and Harrison.

Deem me not

A light unmeaning trifler, recollect
How Nathan spake to David. (Then aloud.) Being a

child,

Nutting with other imps in the old copse

At Hinchinbroke, we saw across a wide
But shallow stream one overhanging hazel,

Whose lissome stalks were weighed by the rich fruitage
Almost into the water. As we stood
Eyeing the tempting boughs, a shining nut
Fell from its socket, dimpling wide around
The dark clear mirror. At that sight one bold
And hardy urchin, with myself, no less

In those young days a daring wight, at once
Plunged in the sparkling rivulet. It rose
Above our ancles, to our knees, half up

Our thighs; and my scared comrade in the midst

Of the stream turned roaring back, and gained the bank

Nutless and wet, amidst the scoffing shouts
Of the small people.

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My course right on, and gained the spoil. Sirs, we
Have plunged knee-deep in the waters; are midway
The stream will ye turn now and leave the fruit
Ungathered, recreants? or hold boldly on
And win the holy prize of freedom? Give me
The warrant. (signs.) So! methinks an it were not
Over ambitious, and that's a sin,

My homely name should stand alone to this
Most righteous scroll. Follow who list. I've left
A space for the Lord President.
Brad.

I fill it

With an unworthy name. (signs.)

Crom. Now swell the roll, My masters! Whither goest thou, Marten? None Shall stir till he hath signed. Thou a ripe scholar, Not write thy name! I can write mine i' the dark, And oft with my sword-point have traced in air The viewless characters in the long hour Before the joy of battle. Shut thine eyes, And write thy name! Anywhere! See(Marking Marten's cheek with a pen. Nay, Marten, Stand still-See! see! how fair and clerkly! Yet This parchment is the smoother.

Mar.

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Mar.

Crom.

How didst win him?

How? A word of praise, a thought of fear. How do men Win traitors? Hark ye, Downes! Lord Broghill left A list of the King's friends amongst us here; Grave seeming Roundheads, bold and zealous soldiers, High officers-I marvel not ye look

Distrustfully-one of renown, a Colonel.

A Judge too! Downes, hast thou signed yonder warrant?

Mar. What was the plan?
Crom.

Go sign, I say! The plan!
A sudden rescue, to o'erpower the guard.-
Ha! Ingolsby!

(Seizing one of the Judges, and leading him to the

table.)

Nay, man, if thou be questioned Some dozen years hence, say that I forced thee, swear Thy wicked kinsman held thy hand. Ay, now The blank is nobly filled, and bravely! now I know ye once again, the pious Judges,

Hold thee sure

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Why so. Where goes The elect and godly of the land!
Our zealous alderman? I deemed to see
His name the first.

Mar. Willingly; joyfully. (signs.) Crom.

Brad. He fears the city's safety, Full, as he says, of the King's friends.

Crom.

They be bold men who fearlessly do own

He fears!

(A trumpet heard without Ha!-Marten, Haste to my son; bid him disband his force; The peril is gone by. What peril?

Har. Crom.

[Exit Marten.

Ye

Their fears. I dare not. Fear! Sir, didst thou come That are assembled here, should lift your voice
By water hither?
Tich

No.

In earnest thanks for quick deliverance
From sudden danger. Ye knew nought of this

+

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the Duke of Gloucester.

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Children. Oh! no, no, no! King.

Dear ones, I go

King. Here we may weep at leisure. Yon fierce On a great journey. Bless ye once again,

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My children! We must part. Farewell.
Eliz.
Let me go with thee!

King. Eliz.

Oh father,

Know'st thou whither?

Yes;

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Herb. Sire, Her grace is absent still. But general Cromwell Craves audience of your Majesty. King. Wipe off those tears, Elizabeth. Resume Thy gentle courage. Thou art a Princess.

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Admit him.

Enter Cromwell.

Sir,

Thou seest me with my children. Doth thine errand Demand their absence?

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Crom.

She shall be cared for. | Early astir. I've a great business toward, [Exeunt Herbert and the Children. To exchange the kingly wreath, my crown of thorns, Are they gone? quite gone? For an eternal diadem; to dieI might have kissed them once again, have charged

King.

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And I would go trim as a bridegroom. Give me
Yon ermined cloak. If the crisp nipping frost
Should cause me shiver, there be tongues would call
The wintry chillness Fear. Herbert, my sleep
Hath been as soft and balmy as young babes
Inherit from their blessed innocence,

Or hardy peasants win with honest toil.
When I awoke, thy slumbers were perturbed,
Unquiet.

Herb. Vexed, my liege, with dreams.
King.

Herb. So please you, sire, demand not.
King.

A dream can vex me now? Speak.
Herb.

Of what?

Dost thou think

Thrice I slept,

And thrice I woke, and thrice the self-same vision
Haunted my fancy. Seemed this very room,
This dim and waning taper, this dark couch,
Beneath whose crimson canopy reclined
A form august and stately. The pale ray
Of the watch-light dwelt upon his face, and showed
His paler lineaments, where majesty
And manly beauty, and deep trenching thought,
And Care the wrinkler, all were blended now
Into one calm and holy pensiveness,

Softened by slumber. I stood gazing on him
With weeping love, as one awake; when sudden
A thick and palpable darkness fell around,
A blindness, and dull groans and piercing shrieks
A moment echoed; then they ceased, and light
Burst forth and music-light such as the flood
Of day-spring at the dawning, rosy, sparkling,

Even now the thought stirred in me. Pardon, Lord, An insupportable brightness—and i' th' midst,
That gazing on the father's agonies,

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The King, starting from his Couch; Herbert, asleep.
King. Herbert! Is't time to rise? He sleeps.
What sounds

Were those that roused me? Hark again! The clang
Of hammers! Yet the watch-light burns; the day
Is still unborn. This is a work of night,
Of deep funereal darkness. Each loud stroke
Rings like a knell, distinct, discordant, shrill;
Gathering, redoubling, echoing round my head,
Smiting me only with its sound; amid
The slumbering city, tolling in mine ear-
A passing bell? It is the scaffold. Heaven
Grant me to tread it with as calm a heart

As I bear now. His sleep is troubled. Herbert!
"T were best to wake him. Herbert! rouse thee, man!
Herb. Did your Grace call?
King.

Over the couch, a milk-white dove, which soared Right upward, cleaving with its train of light The Heavens like a star. The couch remained Vacant.

King. Oh that the spirit so may pass ! So rise! Thrice, did'st thou say?

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Herbert, my soul is full of serious joy,
Content and peaceful as the Autumn sun,
When smiling for awhile on the ripe sheaves,
And kissing the brown woods, he bids the world
A calm good-night. Bear witness that I die
In charity with all men; and take thou,
My kind and faithful servant, follower
Of my evil fortunes, true and tender, take
All that thy master hath to give—his thanks,
His poor but honest thanks. Another King
Shall better pay thee. Weep not. Seek the Bishop;'
And if thou meet with that fair constancy,
My mournful Henrietta, strive to turn
Her steps away till-I'm a coward yet,

And fear her, lest she come to plunge my thoughts
In the deep fountain of her sad fond tears,
To win me-Ha! can that impatient foot,
That hurrying hand, which shakes the door-
Enter the Queen.

Ay; we should be to-day

Queen.

My Charles!

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