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Without an act of sacrilege,—by cord,
By bludgeon or by poison—what you will.
Syndercomb [sheathing his dagger.
'Tis well!
Garland [pressing Barebones's hand.
'Tis well! Go to! I did not hear aright.
Wildman [to Barebones.]⁠It gives me joy to see thee once again
Inspired by goodly sentiment, my friend.
Overton [to Barebones.]⁠Although the shedding blood 's a heinous sin,
We have not time to kill him properly.
Barebones [yielding with bad grace.
So be it, stab the villain, if you will.
[Aloud.]⁠But 'tis deplorable!
Garland. But 'tis deplorable! The sword of Judith
Is brother to the knives that him will smite.
Their place in Heaven's arsenal awaits them.
Harrison.
Brethren, let us give thanks to the Lord God.
'Tis He who doth dispense us from the aid
Of the vile cavaliers. Their furtherance
Would mar the work and blemish our renown.
But God, who doth reserve the victory
For us alone, confounding the designs
Of Ormond and of Oliver, doth toss
Ormond to Cromwell, Cromwell to the Saints.
All [brandishing their daggers.
The Lord be praised!
Lambert. The Lord be praised! My friends, the moments fly,
The people soon will flock to Westminster.
Suppose we are surprised?
Overton [to Joyce, in an undertone.
Suppose we are surprised? Always afraid
Is Lambert!