_1st Art._ Cease quarrelling, and come and play at skittles.
_2nd Art._ With the king"s head for a ball?
_A Woman._ Ay, he was a bad man to his wife, and deserved to die.
_3rd Art._ And a pagan Turk.
_2nd Art._ That would have made all us Christians deny pork.
_3rd Art._ And built ships with our houses.
_2nd Art._ Well, it"s a rare sight to see a king die.
A bishop is something; but a king is a treat for a poor man"s holiday.
_1st Art._ But we shall not be poor now.
_All._ Down with all kings! Live Cromwell! live the Parliament, live Fairfax, live everybody!
[_Exeunt severally._]
_Stage dark. The moon shines brilliantly upon the abbey._
_Enter CROMWELL, cloaked, U.E.R._
_Crom._ This night the place looks older than it is, As if some future centuries had pa.s.s"d, Leaving their shadows on it-- Yon tall towers, That pierce the unsettled sky, Seem not to point unto the stars that watch My coming greatness; but with solemn air To frown back on the memory of Cromwell-- Yon dark cathedral, whose sharp turret spires Look like funereal firs on Ararat, When the sun setting stream"d in blood upon The fast decaying waters--that huge pile Of gloomy worship to the G.o.d of ages, Feels like this age"s tomb and monument.
Would I were buried in it, so I might Sleep there--for O, I cannot sleep to-night.
My molten blood runs singing through my veins.
It is no wonder: I have known less things Disturb my rest; besides, there is a thought Hath led me forth--Come, let me deal with it.
"Tis midnight! Now to face him were a deed, To feel that one had done it--not to tell.
To fold the arms and look upon the work That I have wrought with stedfast, iron will-- There"s evil fascination in the thought: Grows to desire!
I cannot stay my feet!
Like one in dreams, or hurried by a storm, That hales him on with wild uncertain steps, I move on to the thing I dread.
[_Sighs deeply._]
Methought A voice stole on mine ears--as if a sword [_Sighs again._]
Clove the oppressive air. Why do I shrink?
On Naseby field my bare head tower"d high; And now I bend me, though my tingling ears Unconscious but drink in the deep-drawn sigh, That doth attend on greatness.
This is folly.
O coward fancy, lie still in thy grave!
A king doth keep his coffin, why not thou?
I"ll meet him like a conqueror, whose cheek Flushes with manly pity. Could it be That he had lived without his country"s shame!
But no! and thus, I come, Charles Stuart! to tell Thy bloodless clay, that I repent me _not_!
No! if a hecatomb of kings were slain, I"d own the deed unto their legion"d spirits! [_Exit, L._]
SCENE IV.
[_Last Grooves._]
_A State Room in Whitehall. The moon shines through the windows._
_On a large bed with crimson hangings, surmounted with black plumes, is seen a Coffin and pall, richly emblazoned with the royal arms of England. On each side an Ironside keeping guard with a matchlock.
They walk to and fro, and speak as they meet._
_1st Iron._ I tell thee, Bowtell, I would this watch were over.
_2nd Iron._ I would it were a bright morning, with our pike-heads glittering in the sun. I would rather it were a charge of Rupert"s best cavalry in our rear.
_1st Iron._ I mind when I saw him once alive, "twas at the close of the fight, and he would have charged once more, but a false Scotch n.o.ble held him back to his ruin. Had I been he, I would have cloven the false Scot to the chine. I was a prisoner, and near him; he had a tall white plume then. His dark face showed very eager beneath it.
_2nd. Iron._ Ay, I have heard good Jepherson tell of it, and how the Lord blinded them all.
_1st Iron._ I mind his very words,-- "Charles Stuart begs a little loyal blood To do him right--a charge, but one more charge!
Come on, we do command, come on.
O cowards!
Had I but fifty of my nephew Rupert!"
And then he waved his sword, as "twere the whole cut and thrust exercise in the air at once, and his plume fluttered like a white bird in the eye of a tempest. If he should speak now--[_A footstep is heard, both look round._]
_2nd Iron._ Didst thou hear nought?
_1st Iron._ O for a stoop of strong waters!
_2nd Iron._ Hist! "twas like a soldier"s tread in the long gallery beyond.
_1st Iron._ Nay, "tis the echo of thine own feet.
_2nd Iron_ "Tis a footstep. Hark, it stops!
_1st Iron._ Do thou speak.
_Enter CROMWELL, L._
[_They bring their matchlocks to bear._] The word, or else we fire!
_Crom._ [_Muttering._] Had Zimri peace, who slew his master?
_2nd Iron._ Hold! "Tis the General.
_Crom._ Ha! how fare you?
[_The Soldiers move towards the door, coming from the coffin._]
Stay, Bowtell!
Open me yonder coffin, dost not hear?
Quick, fool! Thy mouth is all agape; as if Thou didst lack tidings. What dost quiver for?
Give me thy sword. [_Wrenches open the coffin._]
I would see how he looks: Perchance, I may undo the look he sent, [_Aside._]
In search of me this morn from off the scaffold.