Or, to wring his neck and end it all,
Old Nick call upon old Noll.
Trick.Now, for our glosses to supply a text,
D'ye know mysterious things are here toward?
Giraff.Cromwell turns king; old Satan would be God.
Gramadoch.'Tis said his game by two conspiracies
Is brought to nought.
Elespuru. The army's malcontent,
The people murmur.
Trick. If he put aside
His armour for the royal robe, woe, woe
To the apostate! his unshielded heart
Offers a fairer mark to vengeful blades.
Giraff.For me, I revel in confusion dire.
I'll spur the dogs and wolves to rend and tear.
'Twould give me keenest pleasure to behold
Satan, upon a monstrous gridiron,
Place in Noll Cromwell's hands a red-hot sword,
Ride madly upon Cavaliers, and play
At bowls with Roundheads!
Trick. Brothers, what say you
To the new chaplain, who his blessing gave
With such a crafty grimace?
Elespuru. Humph!
Giraff. The deuce!
Gramadoch.A plague on him?
Trick. E'en so!—That all of us
Do think alike in his regard, is plain.
Gramadoch. Friends, listen to a tale I have to telL
[They gather about Gramadoch.
