Cromwell (Hugo, tr. Ives)/Act first

by Victor Hugo

 

 

ACT FIRST. THE CONSPIRATORS.

The Inn of the Three Cranes.—Rough wooden tables and chairs.—A door at the back of the stage opening on a square.—The interior of an old dwelling-house of the Middle Ages.

Scene 1.—Lord Ormond, disguised as a Roundhead: hair cut very short, high-crowned hat with a broad brim, black broadcloth coat, black serge breeches, and high boots.—Lord Broghill, fashionable, négligé costume of a Cavalier: hat with plumes, breeches and doublet of slashed satin, low shoes.

Lord Broghill [entering through the door at the back, which he leaves partly open, affording a glimpse of the square and of the old houses lighted by the first rays of dawn. He holds an open letter in his hand and is reading it with close attention. Lord Ormond is seated at a table in a dark corner.

"To-morrow—'twill be June the twenty-fifth—
A person whom Lord Broghill once esteemed
His 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 place
Which 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 sort
Are fit to amuse our servants at our doors;
And to entreat them well is all the honour
That 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, you
Have 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 eve
Of 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 all
This ministerial garb—you are so changed!
Ormond.⁠Less changed than you, Broghill. You bend the knee,
Ay, Broghill does obeisance at the feet
Of 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 names
Of highness and protector all a-weary,
'Tis Cromwell's purpose, to be raised aloft
To the King's throne, to be by monarchs hailed
With the proud title of His Majesty.
And in this spoil, which all do share, he takes
The bloodstained heritage of Charles the First.
And he shall have it all! his throne and bier.
The King king-killer in his pride shall learn
How heavy is the crown; and that, although
One 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 hour
When Westminster shall open for this king
Whom hell is soon to consecrate, I say
That you will see him wallow in his blood,
Felled by our swords, ay, on the very steps
Of the throne that he an instant has usurped!
Broghill.⁠Madman! the army is his suite, and aye
That 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 ranks
Of 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 Cavaliers
United with the Roundheads?

Ormond. United with the Roundheads? You will see
With your own eyes, here in this place, ere long,
The King's men mingling with the partisans
Of Parliament. The lowering Puritans
Obey the voice of their fanaticism.
They'll have no more of Oliver than Charles.
If Cromwell grasps the throne, then at their hands
He dies. Lambert, his rival and their chief,
Doth join with us. He ventures to aspire
To replace Cromwell, but we'll look to that!
Spanish and Flemish gold have won for us
Many 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 bring
Sedley and Jenkins, Clifford, Davenant
The poet, who the King's secret commands
Doth bear to us. To the same rendezvous
Sir Richard Willis, Harrison and Carr
Will come.
Broghill.⁠But they're in prison; they are foes
Whom Cromwell holds in durance in the Tower.
Ormond.⁠A word confounds thee. Bound by diverse ties
To the same fate—to compass Cromwell's fall,—
Our ranks include Barkstead the regicide,
The Keeper of the Tower, whom the hope
Of 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 now
I ask you in King Charles the Second's name,
My royal master: "Do you choose to live
A faithful subject, or to die a traitor?"
Broghill.⁠What say you?
Ormond. What say you? To the standard of the King
Return.
Broghill. Return. Alas! I, too, in the old days
Was a leal, faithful subject; for our King
I took strong castles and defended towns;
And I, who once was soldier of the Stuarts,
Am now, by cruel destiny, transformed
To 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 price
Was set upon my head. One day I had
A 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 long
I 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 consequence
Of civil strife! O God! on what slight threads
Virtues political depend to-day!
How many owe their fall to their harsh fate!
How many who appear as white as snow
Are simply fortunate! Broghill! with us
Shatter the yoke that doth oppress us all;
Prove your repentance!
Broghill. Prove your repentance! What! another crime?
Nay. In your fatal secret I may be
A confidant discreet, but nought beyond.
Neutral in this sad conflict, be it mine
To undergo your triumph, or to break
Your 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 be
To Cromwell false, yet serve not your true master.
In God's name be to us a sincere friend
Or 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 body
Are written well-nigh all my services
And 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 obeyed
Without complaint. 'Neath helm and coat of mail
I have grown old and grey; the death I saw

Of Strafford and of Derby; and the fields
Of Dunbar, Tredagh, Naseby, Worcester—
Those combats of the only arms on earth
That 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 blades
Have bathed in the same blood, and breathed the dust
Of the same conflicts. For the second time
And last, Broghill, I ask, in the King's name:
Wilt live a faithful subject, or wilt die
A traitor?—Think on 't. Ormond will await
Your answer in an hour.
[He writes on a piece of paper, which he hands to Broghill.
Your answer in an hour. Hereon is writ
My 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 confederate
I'll be. I will forget all you have said.
But are you of success in such a plot
Fully 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 be
He 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.

Scene 2.—Lord Ormond [alone.

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 bear
A 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 frown
From 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.

Scene 3.—Lord Ormond; Lord Rochester, in a very elegant cavalier costume, laden with ribbons and jewels, beneath a puritan cloak of gray cloth; high-crowned roundhead hat. His black headgear only half conceals his fair hair, one curl of which protrudes from behind the ears, according to the fashion among the young Cavaliers of that day.

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 page
For 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 you
A 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 he
To 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 child
Of 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 divine
That 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! Everything
Her charms enhances, everything becomes her.
'Tis said that 'twas but last month that she came
To London, and that, having by her aunt
Been 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 feast
That London City to old Cromwell gave.—
May God confound him!—I was curious
To see his Mightiness; but when I stood
Beside 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 say
Whether, in speaking, Cromwell stands erect
Or stoops, whether his forehead is too low,
His nose too long, or whether he is sad
Or 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 become
To 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 amourette
Would 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 could
Be slandered; but he's chaste, and why deny it?
He hath the stern, austere morality
Of a sincere reformer.
Rochester [laughing.] Of a sincere reformer. He, austere!
Ah! that austerity of his doth hide
Full many a mystery; the hypocrite
Hath often proved that e'en the Puritan
Is 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 I
Do still maintain, wherefore I dare to say,
My lord, that all these sonnets, madrigals,
Rondeaus, quatrains, and ballads, wherewithal
Your Paris fools are entertained, are well
For petty folk and those of humble birth.
Why, pettifogging lawyers grind them out!
But, Rochester, your peers would blush with shame
To 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 solicitous
Of our hereditary rank; no more
Do 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 all
Of lowliest estate, a fellow criminal
I mark Armand Duplessis Richelieu,
The poet-cardinal; why hold my peace?
Ay, e'en if the supporters of my shields
Were 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.

Scene 4.—Lord Ormond, Lord Rochester, Davenant.

Rochester [running toward Davenant.
Dear poet, we await you here to read
A 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, before
He gave consent that I should leave this realm,
Did summon me before him and demand
My plighted word that I'd not see the King.
I promised. But no sooner in Cologne
Was I than I recalled the wiles I learned
In Gascony: I wrote the King to beg
That I might to his presence be admitted
At 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 me
With 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 call
By other names, would never satisfy
A 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.

[He takes from his hat a bag of crimson velvet, and produces from it a sealed parchment , which he hands to Lord Ormond, who receives it kneeling, and breaks the seal after kissing it respectfully .

Rochester [to Davenant, in an undertone.
The while he reads that scroll, I'll read to you
Some verses.
Ormond [reading half aloud
Some 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."

[With the same ceremony he returns the King's letter to Davenant, who kisses it, replaces it in the velvet bag, and conceals it in his hat.

Charles, Rex. Egad! 'Tis easier said than done,
In truth. In God's name, how is Rochester
To be to Cromwell's bedroom introduced?
We needs must be adroit.
Davenant. We needs must be adroit. I know a man
In 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 truth
A most diverting masquerade!
Rochester. A most diverting masquerade! And why,
Lord Ormond? I can play a rôle at will
In comedy; in "Le Roi Bücheron"
I've played the thief,—as you know, Davenant,—
And I can well assume the character
Of 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 take
You 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 bestow
Upon 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 night
With hippocras wherein is dipped a sprig
Of rosemary. Therein this powder pour,
And bribe the guard at the park gate.
And bribe the guard at t [To Ormond.] The rest
Is our affair.
Ormond. Is our affair. But wherefore does the King
Command that Cromwell, by a coup de main,
Be carried off to-night, whenas he dies
To-morrow? E'en by his own partisans
His death is sworn.
Davenant. His death is sworn. And that's the reason on 't.
The King would fain protect him from the blows
Aimed by the Puritans. It is his will
To do without their aid. And, furthermore,
'Tis often well to have a living foe
For hostage.
Rochester. For hostage. And the funds?
Davenant. For hostage. And the funds? Moored in the Thames
There lies a brig with a large sum in gold
Which will be brought to us. Meanwhile, at need,
Manasseh, a vile Jew, doth offer us
A gen'rous credit to be drawn upon.
Ormond.⁠'Tis well.
Davenant. 'Tis well. But let us none the less retain
The Roundheads' succour. 'Tis an oak whose roots
Spread 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 torch
Of 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 fools
All these great nobles be! If it so chance
That 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 Rochester
Himself, methinks, will not insist thereon.
We've divers matters to deliberate
Touching our plot.
Rochester. Touching our plot. You think my quatrain bad!
Because I have not written masquerades
And 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 dash
In Paris, the last fribble who on Place Royale
Displays his hat with all its drooping plumes,
His ribbons and lace frill and curly wig
And bottines highly varnished, has a mind
Less filled than yours is with absurd conceits!
Rochester [in a rage.]⁠My lord, you're not my father! Your grey hairs
In 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.

[They sheathe their swords, pull their broad-brimmed hats over their eyes, and wrap themselves in their cloaks. The knocking is renewed. Davenant opens the door.

Scene 5.—The Same; Carr in the regulation costume of a Roundhead.

[He halts gravely on the threshold, and salutes the three Cavaliers with his hand, without removing his hat.

Carr.⁠Is this the place appointed for the saints
To meet, my brethren?
Davenant [returning his salutation.] To meet,… Even so.
[To Lord Ormond, in an undertone.] To meet,… Even so. 'Tis thus
That 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 assailed
With 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?

Carr [having slowly taken a few steps, he clasps his hands on his breast, raises his eyes toward heaven, then turns them on the three Cavaliers in turn.

Continue, brethren!—At the holy place
When I arrive, methinks, of all the guests
Assembled at the blessed banquet, I
Am the least worthy. Let no man arise,
To greet old Carr. The clamour wherewithal
Your voices fell upon my ears, I see
Was but a contest of arms spiritual.
Rochester [aside]⁠The devil take him!
Carr. The devil take him! Contests of that sort
Are most familiar to me; pray resume
Those 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 key
Mourning our liberties, these seven years,
Vanished 'neath Cromwell's rule. My gaoler said
To 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 old
Jacob to Mesopotamia, I come
To your fraternal door. My soul awaits
Your blessed healing words, as does the earth
The rain from heaven. I am girt about
And 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 end
To the eclipse! I gather from his speech
He's from the Tower and his name is Carr.
He's one of the conspirators sent hither
By Barkstead. This same Carr's a sectary,
A bird of prey. Assisted by Strachan,
In the late war he drew his forces off
From the encampment of the Parliament.
The Parliament confined him in the Tower;
But, Master Davenant, blush you to know
That Cromwell he reproached for that he did
By treachery the Parliament dissolve

That prisoned him.
Davenant [in an undertone.] That prisoned him. An Independent he
Of common type? Ranter? Socinian?
Ormond [in an undertone.]⁠No, he's a millenary. He believes
That for a thousand years to come the saints
Will rule unhindered.—Goodly folk the saints!
Carr [apparently absorbed in gloomy meditation.
Brethren, I've suffered sore! I was forgot
In 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 flame
My brow was branded, withered was my arm;
Accursèd by the God whom I proclaim,
Like unto wood by fire half consumed
Was 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-rock
My blade is sharpened; therewith I will smite
The traitor Cromwell, and expel from Zion
The 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 God
Doth aid, from Gog to Magog, soon will rule
The 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 zest
To what I say! What poet, in good sooth,
Could see an ear ope so wide, and not
Throw 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 clink
Our sternest Puritans sometimes unbend.
[Aloud.] You should be thirsty, sir?
Carr. You should be thirsty, sir? Nay! not athirst
Nor 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!

[The waiter puts divers pitchers and two pewter goblets on a table. Carr and Rochester take their places beside it. Carr fills a goblet and offers it to the Cavalier, who continues.

Wine, hippocras! You asked—much thanks!—what
We 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 addressed
Is Frances called; but that too vulgar name
Would 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 nymph
Of 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, who has listened at first attentively, then with frowning displeasure, springs to his feet in a rage, and overturns the table.

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 side
The 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 original
Much more diverting than Lord Ormond is!
Carr [indignantly.]⁠Like Satan, thou didst to the mountain-top
Conduct 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 were
A heavenly spirit! To his lying words
My soul did ope, as to the dew from heaven
Doth Sharon's lily. He a ghastly sore
Doth show, and not the treasures undefiled
Of a pure heart!
Rochester. Of a pure heart! My quatrain! that, a sore!
Carr [with increasing excitement.
A frightful, bleeding sore, wherein one sees
Episcopacy, popery and schism,
And love and lust! an ulcer past all cure,
Where Moloch-Cupid doth with Ashtoreth
Discharge his ordure!
Rochester. Discharge his ordure! Pardon, my good sir,
Egeria it is, not Ashtoreth.
Carr.⁠Thy mouth spits venom wherewithal my soul
Polluted is. Away, all ye who do
Iniquity and fornication—go!
My bones you wither even to their marrow!
Nathless the saints will triumph! Your curst race
Will never bend them like the slender reed;
And when the mighty waters burst their banks
They 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!

[At this moment Rochester's cloak falls apart and affords a glimpse of his rich costume, covered with ribbons, love-knots, and jewels. Carr casts a scandalized glance at it, and continues:

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 laugh
At all his splendour, shameless he displays
Behind 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-feast
Of papists! They are Cavaliers! I go!
Rochester.⁠Farewell!
Carr. Farewell! My feet do walk on burning coals!

Scene 6.—The Same; Colonel Joyce, Major-General Harrison, Barebones (the leather-merchant), Lieutenant-General Ludlow, Colonel Overton, Colonel Pride, Major Wildman, Syndercomb (a soldier), Garland, Plinlimmon (Members of Parliament), and other Puritans.

[They enter in procession, wrapped in cloaks.—All wear broad-brimmed hats, high boots, and long swords which raise the skirts of their cloaks.

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 Cavaliers
Are with us. We must needs their arms employ
In lack of others. They are our allies.
Carr.⁠Death to the royal party! With the sons
Of 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.

[The three Cavaliers have seated themselves at a table at the right of the stage. The Puritans, standing in a group at the left, talk together in undertones, and from time to time cast malevolent glances at the Cavaliers.—We are to imagine, throughout the following scenes, that there is so much space between the two groups that what is said in one is not necessarily overheard by the other. Carr alone seems to keep his eyes constantly on the Cavaliers; but he stands a little apart from the other Roundheads.

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 force
Is most disquieting.—
[He looks toward the door.
Is most disquieting.—Aha! but here
Are 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 persecute
Because he fears it.

Scene 7.—The Same; Sedley, Lord Drogheda, Lord Rosebery, Sir Peters Downie, Lord Clifford, wrapped in cloaks and with hats of the Puritan type; Doctor Jenkins (an old man, dressed in black), and other Royalists.

[The Cavaliers enter noisily; Doctor Jenkins alone displays a grave and stern demeanour.

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!

[The Cavaliers approach the table at which Ormond, Rochester and Davenant were sitting. They espy the other table and the pewter mugs which Carr overturned.

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 I
Who fasts among you?—Let us mend this fault.

[He replaces the table on its legs and summons a waiter, who covers it anew with jugs of beer and wine. The young Cavaliers hasten to take seats about it.

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

Scene 8.—The Same; Sir Richard Willis, grey-bearded, in the costume of the old Cavaliers; he has the aspect of a sick man.

Ormond.⁠Sir Richard Willis!

[All the Cavaliers rise and go to meet him. He walks with evident difficulty, and Rosebery and Rochester offer their arms to assist him.

Sir Richard Willis [to the Cavaliers.
Sir Richard Willis! For an instant freed
From durance, doth old Richard drag himself
To you, dear friends. A poor, weak man, alas!
And from the persecutions suffering still
Which weigh upon my life. My eyes have grown
Unwonted to the light, so constantly
Doth 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 left
Of my old blood, while I proclaim my faith,
Shall flow for my true King!
Ormond. Shall flow for my true King! O loyalty
Sublime!
Rochester. Sublime! Most reverend fidelity!
Willis.⁠Among you I the lowliest am, my lords.
My sole good fortune is that I have been
The most maltreated servant of the King.
Doctor Jenkins.⁠How fruitful are your virtuous qualities
Of 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 stand
Together yonder, Ludlow and Plinlimmon,
Members of Parliament; then Carr, who doth
With 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, upholsterer
To 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 of
The crowning. Worthy man, his efforts all
Devoting 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 lends
His credit, the same throne that he doth curse,
At the best price he can.
Willis. At the best price he can. Was not his brother
The Speaker of the Commons House?
Davenant. The Speaker of the Commons House? He was,
In the late Parliament, whereof this man
Himself was one.
Willis [to Lord Ormond.] Himself… The others—who are they?
Ormond.⁠Regicide Harrison, and Overton
And Garland regicides.
Clifford. And Garland regicides. Can some one say
Which 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 be
To pick a quarrel with yon Roundhead curs
Who outrage God! How gladly I would make
Their heads more round, by cutting off their ears!
And what a pleasant pastime to attack
The precious rascals—were they not our friends!

Scene 9.—The Same; Lieutenant-General Lambert, in the simple costume of the other Roundheads, carrying a long sword with a copper hilt.

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 mature
Our 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 command
Three hundred gentlemen, the leaders, these.
When do we smite th' accursèd one?
Lambert. When do we smite th' accursèd one? When he
Is 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 Capel
Is not so rotten that it will not hold
A block for your head, too!
Ormond [aside.] A block for your head, too! He thinks that he
Is destined for the throne, and even now
His gibbet's making ready!
[A pause.
Lambert [aside.] His gibbet's making ready! Well, 'tis done,
And I am compromised! They've chosen me
To 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.

[He folds his arms across his breast and raises his eyes to the ceiling. The Puritans assume their favorite attitude of meditation and prayer. The Cavaliers are seated about the table, the young men drinking merrily. Only Ormond, Willis, Davenant and Jenkins seem to listen to Lambert's harangue.

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 call
Of England would assume unto himself
The old hereditary royal title.
Wherefore we come to you and summon you
To say if it be meet that we chastise
This 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, Oliver
Cromwell of County Huntingdon? Now, speak,
All [except Carr and Harrison.
Let Cromwell die!

The Roundheads. Let Cromwell die! Let us annihilate
The 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 seems
An instrument of heaven: although he be
A tyrant, he an Independent is
At heart, and mayhap he 's the man proclaimed
By Daniel in his prophecy: "The saints
Shall seize the kingdom of the world and shall
Possess it."
Ludlow. Possess it. Ay, so runs the text. Nathless
The prophet, General, doth reassure
Your mind, for that same Daniel elsewhere says:
"The kingdom to the people of the saints
Shall for my plans be given."—Hence 'tis clear
That 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 while
I do avow myself o'ermatched, nathless
I am not, Ludlow, fully satisfied
That these texts have the sense you give to them;
And I would fain confer with you one day
Upon these themes, forbid to the profane.
Some pious friends we may convoke, thereon
To hold deliberation; with their lights
They 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!

Joyce [calling Lambert's attention to a group of Roundheads who have thus far stood apart at the rear of the stage.

Yon are three new conspirators. Their arms
Are wroth that they have come a little late
To labor in the vineyard; but these men
Make proffer of themselves, for well they know
That 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 absurd
Of 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 swords
Have 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 power
Is 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 ordain
According to the Bible, and require
Tradesmen, for honest profits, to employ
The 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 cap
For a tiara?
Plinlimmon [to Joyce, indicating Barebones.
For a tiara? Do not jest. Full oft
The 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 done
By halves, 'tis fitting that in every shire
We 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 law
Of 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 thirst
Or hunger. For my part, I cast my vote
For a good meal; our stomachs empty are.

[The Puritans turn away indignantly. The servants of the inn furnish the Cavaliers' table.

Carr [gazing at the Cavaliers as they fall to eating.
How greedily these demons gorge themselves
With flesh and wine!
Barebones. With flesh and wine! The heathen!
Carr [to the Puritans.] With flesh and wine!… List to me
Ere you go further: are you well assured
That Cromwell thinks to make himself the king?
Overton.⁠Too well assured! A servile Parliament
To-morrow will his base-born head bedeck
With that forbidden title.
All [except Carr.] With that forbidden… Death to him!
Harrison.⁠But I cannot conceive what whim impels
Cromwell 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 behoof
Of 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 sold
To the old-clothes man! By a thirst for gold
Consumed, which nought assuages, Harrison
Values 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 make
A wretched scapegoat? Oliver bedight
In robes of honour at the Lord's right hand
Seemed aye to walk; e'en as the ripened grain
He was, and wore th' invulnerable mail
Of Judah; when to their bedazzled eyes
He but appeared, the Philistines took flight,
Crying: "'Tis he!" He was, O Israel,
The pillow of thy bed! but in thy mouth
That honey to foul poison is transformed;
He has turned Tyrian, and Edom's sons
At 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 be
A king as David was,—but may his fate
Be 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 blood
His hands are wet.
Harrison. His hands are wet. Regardless of our rights
Won by so many wars, he doth restore
The 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 behest
That Hamilton, Lord Capell and Lord Holland
Were 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 tolerates
The 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!

[At this moment there comes a loud knocking at the door. The conspirators pause. A silence of surprise and alarm. The knocking is repeated.

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 plot
Is known.
Rosebery. We needs must open.
[He opens the door.—Enter Richard Cromwell.

Scene 10.—The Same; Richard Cromwell, in the costume of a Cavalier.

[Upon Richard's appearance the Puritans wrap themselves in their cloaks, and pull down the brims of their hats.

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, Rosebery
And Clifford, which above the uproar rose
Of cups and tables, your poor Richard would
Have 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 you
To 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, hitherto
We'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 enroll
In the opposing party, I have lived
Fraternally with you. But none the less,
Despite this brotherly accord, you have
A secret from your Richard! ay, and such
A 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 not
In countless ways served you most faithfully?
Who was your refuge, in your dire distress,
Against the usurers, more deadly foes
Than any Roundhead? Tell me, Clifford, you,
For whom did I but yesterday repay
Four 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 Parliament
Attainted, who became thy surety
When thou wert taken into custody?
Downie [with embarrassment.
'Twas thou.
Richard. 'Twas thou. And, Rosebery, whose influence
Caused 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 cloak
Of 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 come
To 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 understand
That, 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 acts
Tax 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-mains
And horse-races? In fine have I not matched
In every point your reckless hardihood,
And played with you in all your comedies?
Barebones [aside, wrathfully.
The Sadducee!
Richard. The Sadducee! Duels and merry-makings
And 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 be
That 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 much
To be informed.
Rosebery. To be informed. Richard!
Richard. To be informed. Richard! I make no doubt
That you do me the justice to believe
That 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 have
Of being compromised with you, how far
My prayers accord with yours, and how I love
The 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 lair
Doth most concern itself.—But we shall see.
Willis [aside.]⁠'Tis Cromwell's son! But if he's of the plot,
He's most imprudent.

[At this moment the blast of a trumpet is heard without. Again there is a silence of amazement and disquiet.

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

Lambert [to Joyce, in an undertone.
Here in our cave, like Cacus! Cromwell sends
Men 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 square
Is 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 neck
Doth sit unsteadily, about to fall!

[Barebones opens the door of the tavern; the other conspirators remove the shutters and uncover broad grated windows, through which can be seen the wine-market thronged with people. In the centre of the stage is the Public Crier on horseback, surrounded by four poursuivants in livery, armed with pikes, and by an escort of archers and halberdiers. The Crier has a trumpet in one hand and an unfolded parchment in the other.

Scene 11.—The Same; The Public Crier, Poursuivants, Halberdiers, Archers, Populace.

[The conspirators stand aside at the right and left of the stage.

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 land
The 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 made
By 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 discreet
And learned people from the ills presaged
By the eclipse; and that Almighty God
May 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 citizens
Their 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-keepers
Aind them who deal in food and drink, to close
Upon the instant shops and taverns, too;

Lewd places, where th' observance of the fast
Would slighted be.
Lambert [aside.] Would sligh… Good! once again I'm quit
For 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.

[The conspirators, assembled about Barebones, press his hand in token of their assent.

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.

Richard Cromwell [to the Cavaliers, as they prepare to go away.

And death to Cromwell! Bah! 'tis tiresome
To 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.