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the throne and the royal decorations, at which the conspirators cast angry glances. Lambert turns toward the assemblage and continues solemnly.

Well, friend? You see. Still faithful to his plan,
Cromwell pursues his course nefarious.
Westminster's all in readiness; the stage
Is reared, and yonder see the steps whereon
The cringing Parliament will drag its oath
Unto the feet of a King Oliver!
Now let us seize the instant that remains,
And act; now let us try this other king.
His crime is clear as day: this is his throne!
Overton.⁠Nay, 'tis his scaffold: he'll ascend to it
That he may fall the farther. By himself
Is his last hour appointed, my good friends.
May all this pomp from tombs of kings evoked
Become his funeral pomp, and may out daggers
Send his shade hence to-day to join the shade
Of Stuart!—See: concealment's at an end!
The hypocritic despot doth exhume,
To serve his ends, the outlawed royalty;
And from the hands of Charles to take the sceptre
All stained with blood, doth fumble in the tomb
To which our hands consigned him. Cromwell dares
To steal the crown e'en from the sepulchre.
God grant that thither it return again,
And carry Cromwell with it in its fall.
And if another dares to reign alone,
May the king's mantle ever be a shroud!
Lambert [aside.]⁠He goes too far.
Overton [continuing.] …too far. Be he anathema!
All. Anathema!
Overton. Anathema! All things conspire with us,
And Cromwell with the rest. 'Tis so, my friends,