In Ormond's service! Fate, which sends him hither,
Mingles a night-owl with yon birds of prey!
[He walks to and fro, uttering a few words from time to time.
My only crimes, it seems, if they say true,
Are bowing awkwardly and reckoning
Too well. But of the late King Charles the First,
Or of the English charter—not a word!
[Putting his hand to the pocket of his doublet.
What have I here that weighs so heavily?
[He takes from his pocket the purse given him by Murray.
Ah! 'tis the price of blood!—I had forgot:
These gentry paid me for the privilege
Of murdering myself. Now let us see
If they're entitled to my gratitude;
Let's put a price on their munificence.
The head of Cromwell,—how much is it worth?
If they have paid me less than current rates,
'Twere most uncivil, on my word.
Great God!
My son's name on this purse! So he's the source
Of this assassins' gold!
[Scrutinizing it carefully.] I do not err;
Here is his crest! What proof is lacking now
That he's a traitor? Ah! thou wretched child!
And wretched father! Not content to bear
His part in their conspiracies, his part
In their repasts within their haunts impure,
To urge them on, to drink to my own death,
My son defrayed the cost of the death feast!
He gave them gold wherewith to buy my head!
And sharing all their pleasures, uncontrite,
