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_Crom._ Stay, thou base knave! I'll have thee whipped without The army of the saints. Hearken ye all!
Charles Stuart I would gladly smite to death: Not as a king, but as a man that fights Against the honour, conscience of the king, And the true rights of all his loving subjects.
Is any here the muscles of whose arm Grow slack to think he may meet such an one In arms to-morrow? Let him home to-day, G.o.d and his country have no need of him.
_Soldiers._ A Cromwell! Cromwell!
Lead on, we'll slay the king.
_Crom._ I did but say If ye should meet him, ye would not turn back.
_Soldiers._ No! No!
_Crom._ Nor slur the onset?
_Soldiers._ No!
_Crom._ Nor spare A courtier for his likeness to the King?
_Soldiers._ No! No!
_Crom._ Why then ye are mine own, [_observing the soldiers._]
My brave and trusty Ironsides! See here Are some right honest faces I have known From childhood, and they'll follow me to death, If needed.--Let the paltry Scot go hence, And even Fairfax rein his charger back-- We'll on unto the breach. The Lord Himself Will ride in thunder with our mail-clad host: The proudest head that ever wore a crown Shall not withstand us.--Strike! and spare not! Ho!
Down with the curs'd of G.o.d!
_Soldiers._ A Cromwell! Cromwell!
Let us come on!
_Crom._ The sun that stood in Heaven, Until his beams grew red with two days' blood Of slaughtered Canaan, shall see them flee like chaff before us--
_Soldiers._ Joshua! cry aloud, A Joshua!--
_Crom._ These gay Philistine lords That fight for Dagon, will ye fly them, or Hurl them and Dagon down?--
_Soldiers._ A Samson! Samson!
[_Distant cannon heard. Cheering from the Soldiers._]
_Will._ [_Aside._] Here's gory enthusiasm! Now whilst every man is ready to preach individually on his own account, and the whole collectively are about to sing a psalm, I will endeavour to steal away unperceived, lest any of them, imagining himself somewhere between Deuteronomy and Kings, should take it upon himself to proclaim that I come from Gibeon, and so--
_Crom._ [_To William._] Hither! sirrah! It is well I know the master that thou servest, or else thy back had paid the license of thy speech. Tell him I would speak with him two hours hence in his own quarters.
[_Exit William, U.E.L._] Good friend, [_to a soldier_] I am thirsty in the flesh. Get me, I prithee, a cup of thine ale. [_Soldier goes out._] [_To another soldier._] Give me thy pipe, Ruxton! is it right Trinidado?--[_To them all._] Think ye now, the generals fare better than ye do--I mean now, Desborough or Rossiter, or our brave Ireton?
_A Soldier._ Ay! do they. But just now we saw a store of good things carried into Desborough's tent.
Lo! there goes Jepherson and Fight-the-good-Fight Egerton this instant to feast on the fat things of the earth. [_Here the soldier gives him a cup of ale._]
_Crom._ [_Pausing ere he drinks._] What is thy name, friend?
_A Soldier._ [_Near._] Born-again Rumford.
_Crom._ A babe, I do protest, a babe of grace. See you not, he cannot speak himself. [_Drinks, and throws the remainder over Born-again Rumford's beard. Returns the cup and prepares his pipe._] Now, Born-again! I think thou art baptized again! [_The soldiers laugh._] So there is feasting and gluttony amongst our captains. Hearken ye, I shall call a conference straightway. When the generals be come, which they will do with sore grumbling, then do ye fall to and spare not! I will stand between you and the fierce wrath of them that be spoiled. Three rolls on the kettledrum shall be the signal. See that ye leave nothing. [_Going, L._]
[_As he goes he strikes his pipe on the back of the corslet of one of the soldiers; so that the ashes fall on his neck._]
_Sol._ Now may the devil!
_Crom._ Ho! swearest thou?--fy! fy! for shame, Orderly officer! set Hezekiah Sin-Despise down in thy book five s.h.i.+llings for an oath. Truly Sin-Despise is no fitting name for thee, but rather 'Overcome-by-Sin.' Come, as I did tempt thy railing, I will pay thy fine. [_Gives him money._] Tus.h.!.+ grin not so, man. I thought my Ironsides were proof against fire as well as steel. [_Exit, L._]
_Shouts of the Soldiers._ Live, Cromwell! live, our worthy general!
[_WILLIAM re-enters and joins the Soldiers. Exeunt, B._]
_Enter ARTHUR reading a letter, U.E.L._
"----and so, cousin, I am very miserable, and if you have this influence with the General Cromwell, whose fair daughter I do so well remember, get me a home with her; for, alas! I can stay no longer here.
And yet my father? But to wed with one that I despise, it is impossible, and all things are prepared, I look to you alone for rescue. Farewell. _Florence._"
I will! I will "Postscript. I hear you are engaged in these dreadful wars. Pray heaven! you have chosen aright; for I know not. But peril not your life more than becomes true valour; for I have heard you are dear to many. Adieu!" _I_ dear to many?--let's see, there is my faithful serving-man--poor fellow, he likes not this life, and doth a.s.sume an amusing kind of fear, but I do believe thinking more of me than himself. Well then; I had a dog; but he was lost the night of our pa.s.sage, when but for his inveterate barking, for which I beat him, I had surely been drowned in the cabin, where I slept, when the vessel was stranded--he loved me; but for more--I know them not.
O dearest Florence! were I lov'd indeed by thee, There were indeed a bright star in the sky, To guide my shatter'd bark of destiny! [_Retires, U.R._]
_Enter CROMWELL, IRETON, DESBOROUGH, and others, U.E.L., ARTHUR joins them._
_Crom._ Thus, gentlemen, the reports being ended, I would but detain you a short while in prayer.
_Des._ Nay! as I said before, we are fatigued, and the body needs refreshment.
_Ire._ [Apart to Cromwell.] How the pampered boar frets!
_Crom._ [_To Desborough._] Will you to my tent?--I can give you a soldier's fare, with a soldier's welcome, a crust and cup of ale, and we can discourse what remains.
_An Officer._ Indeed we are engaged; but if the General Cromwell would honour us--
_Crom._ I thank you, I have supped ere you have dined.
[_Drum rolls. A loud shout of merriment and clatter is heard._]
_Des._ What is that--in my tent too!
[_Looking off, R. WILLIAM comes forward, R._]
By Heaven! rank mutiny. I'll have them shot.
_Will._ Nay! worthy sir, knock out the priming of your wrath from the matchlock of your vengeance, and abide till to-morrow, when you shall see many a stout fellow and gormandizer to boot levelled. [_To Cromwell._] Great Sir! they complain that the wine is thin.
_Crom._ Go purchase some strong waters. [_Gives him money._] I must not have my fellows' stomachs unsettled. Here, thou graceless knave.
_Will._ An't please you, we had no time for grace; but we return thanks to you, under Heaven.
_Des._ This then is your work, General Cromwell!
Call you this discipline?
