Cromwell by Alfred B. Richards

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CROMWELL

A Drama, in Five Acts

by

ALFRED B. RICHARDS

Author of "CROESUS, King of Lydia," a Tragedy; "VANDYCK," a Play of
Genoa, "DEATH AND THE MAGDALEN," and other Poems; "THE DREAM
OF THE SOUL," and other Poems; "OXFORD UNMASKED;" Part II
of "BRITAIN REDEEMED;" and "POEMS, ESSAYS AND OPINIONS."

London:
Printed by Petter, Duff, and Co.
Playhouse Yard, Blackfriars

MDCCCLII

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

CROMWELL.

MILTON, his Secretary.

ARTHUR WALTON.

BASIL, his Half-Brother.

SIR SIMON NEVEL, their Uncle.

IRETON, Son-in-law of Cromwell.

HARRISON, )
DESBOROUGH, )
BRADSHAW, )
MARTEN, ) Parliamentarians.
LILBURNE, )
HACKER, )
LUDLOW, )
SIR HARRY VANE, )

WILLIAM, Servant to Arthur.

HEZEKIAH NEWBORN, Host.

PEARSON, Attendant on Cromwell.

WYCKOFF, Accomplice of Basil.

BOWTELL, an Ironside.

Cavaliers, Roundheads, Officers, Gentlemen, Soldiers,
Guests of the Inn, Poachers, Citizens, a Preacher,
Old Man, Trooper, Servants, Messengers, &c., &c.

THE LADY CROMWELL.

ELIZABETH, her Daughter.

FLORENCE NEVEL, Daughter of Sir Simon.

LADY FAIRFAX.

BARBARA, Maid of Florence.

Attendants, Women, &c.

CROMWELL.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

[_1st Cut._] [_2nd Grooves._]

_A Lane near a Village. Afternoon._

_Enter ARTHUR WALTON and WILLIAM, R.S.E._

_Arthur._ Give me your arm, my feet tread heavily;
The sameness of this scene doth pierce my heart
With thronging recollections of the past.
There is nought chang'd--and what a world of care,
Of sorrow, passion, pleasure have I known,
Since but a natural part of this was I,
Whose voice is now a discord to the sounds
Once daily mellow'd in my youthful being.
Methinks I feel like one that long hath read
A strange and chequer'd story, and doth rise,
With a deep sigh to be _himself_ again.

_Will._ One would not think, Sir, how much blood had stain'd
Old England, since we left her, finding thus
All things so peaceful; but one thing I mark'd
As we did skirt the village.

_Arth._ What was that?

_Will._ The king's face was defac'd--the sign o' the inn
At jolly Master Gurton's--mind you not
How sad it look'd? Yet 'neath it I've been gay,
A time or two; 'tis not my fortune now:
Those bright Italian skies have even marr'd
My judgment of clear ale.

_Arth._ I'faith 'twill need
A marvellous scant repair.

_Will._ One jovial day
Of honest mud and wholesome English fog.

_Arth._ That sign! 'twas once the royal head of James;
Some thirsty limner passing made it Charles;
I've heard it said 'twas e'en our good Queen Bess,
By curious folk that trac'd her high starch'd ruff
In the quaint faded back of antique chair,
Her stomacher in Charles's shrivell'd vest--
Who in his turn is gone. Well, take this letter,
See the old knight; but not a word to him.
Stay, I forgot, my little rosy cousin
Should be a woman now; thus--full of wiles,
Glancing behind the man that trusts her love
To his best friend, and wanton with the girls
She troops with, in such trifling, foolish sort,
To turn the stomach of initiate man.
Fie! I care not to hear of her; yet ask
If she be well. Commend me to my brother;
Thou wilt not tarry--he will give thee gold,
And haste to welcome me--go! At the inn
We'll meet some two hours hence.

[_Exit R._]

_Will._ Hem! I doubt much
About this welcoming.--Sad human Nature!
This brother was a careful, godly youth
That kept accounts, and smiling pass'd a beggar,
Saying, "Good-morrow, friend," yet never gave.
Where head doth early ripen, heart comes late--
Therefore, I say, I doubt this welcoming. [_Exeunt._]

SCENE II.

[_Last Cut._] [_2nd Grooves._]

_An Apartment in a Manor House._

_Enter BASIL WALTON and FLORENCE, R._

_Basil._ [_following Florence._] I'll break thy haughty spirit!

_Flor._ Will you, sir?--
'Tis base, ungentle, and unmannerly,
Because, forsooth, you covet my poor wealth,
Which likes me not, as I care not for it,
To persecute a helpless girl like me.

_Basil._ I will protect thee; but accept my love.
Nay, do not frown so.

_Flor._ Love! say'st thou? Profane,
Vile misuse of that sacred word. Away!
Touch not my hand with your cold fingers--Off!

_Basil._ Thou foolish child, wouldst throw thyself away
Upon some beggar? were he here, perchance
Thy cousin Arthur? Come, our lands unite,
Be prudent--

_Flor._ Prudent!
Oh, there is no match
Half so imprudent, as when interest
Makes two, in heart divided, one--no work
So vain, so mean, so heartless, dull and void,
As that of him who buys the hollow "yes"
From the pale lips where Love sits not enthron'd,
Nor fans with purple wing the bosom's fire.
Prudence! to waste a life, lose self-respect,
Or e'en the chance of love bestowed and met?--

_Basil._ Sweet cousin, wilt not love me?

_Flor._ No! nor wish
To hate thee, could I help it--therefore, go!

_Basil._ Well then I must-- [_Seizes her hand._]

_Flor._ For pity's sake; if not
I'll fly thee and my home.

_Basil._ Ha! leave your father,
Desert the old man in his hour of need?
Fine ethics, truly. [_Advances._]

_Flor._ Heaven! Leave me, sir--
There something tells me Arthur will return,
Whom you have cozen'd of his heritage,
And then he'll aid me.

_Basil._ [_Aside._] Hath she seen him then,
Or heard? I must beware--

[_A Servant enters and beckons him out, L._]

Nay! none can know.
[_Aside._] Doubtless a message from him--I must see
That they meet not, or else--
[_Aloud._] Adieu! fair cousin;
I trust you'll find your senses yet ere long.

[_Exit BASIL, L._]

_Flor._ Once more he's gone--O world! indeed thou art
Too oft the bad man's friend.

_Sir Sim._ [_Within._] Ho! nephew Basil,
Ho! Basil!

[_Enter SIR SIMON, R._]
Where's my nephew? [_To Florence._]

_Flor._ He has left
This moment, sir!
O listen, he is rude.
I cannot wed him,--Father! make me not
Unhappy--

_Sir Sim._ Nay! Thou know'st, indeed, my child,
How I do love thee. 'Tis a good young man,
And wealthy--no fool, like his brother. Fool,
Said I?--a madman, ape, dolt, idiot, ass,
An honourable ass to give the land
His weak sire left him, to our Basil--Ha!
_He'll_ give none back, I think !--no! no!
Come, girl!
Wouldst thou be foolish, too? I would not marry
For money only, understand--no! no!
That I abhor, detest, but in my life
I never saw a sweeter, properer youth.
You like him not? Tush! marriage doth bring liking.
Ay! love too--you are young!

_Flor._ But, I've enough--
Why wed at all?

_Sir Sim._ Girl! girl! I say, would'st drive
Thy father mad! A very handsome man,
A healthy fine young man--lands joining too!
Nay! I could curse you, wench! Not have him?
This
Comes from your mawkish sentiment. You are
No child of mine--

_Flor._ Dear father! Hear me!

_Sir Sim._ Mark!
You're not of legal age--I'll drive you forth.
I'd rather see you dead, here, at my feet,
Than baulk my counsels thus. Nay, try and see
If sentiment will feed you, trick you out.
O, who would be a father?

_Flor._ Have I not
E'er shown you love and duty?

_Sir Sim._ Then obey!
If I'd said nought--Oh! then you'd been in love
With him, against my will--

_Flor._ No, sir, indeed!
Spare me--I'll think--I'll try. Be kind to me!

_Sir Sim._ Well, well, child, 'tis not right to treat me thus:
If I were full of passion--harsh, unkind,
Your conduct were less cruel. But, you'll kill
The old man some day with your cruelty.
You don't care for him--not you; yet he acts
All for your good. Some day you'll think so when
You've lost him. Come, come, dry your tears, now kiss me;
I should die happy, were you married well.
I am old--all this agitation kills me.

_Flor._ Nay, father, talk not so.

_Sir Sim._ You should obey me.
Your mother never dar'd oppose me thus;
She swore obedience, and I made her keep it.

_Flor._ [_Aside._] My mother, she died young, and yet too old;
The breath of her whole life was one long sigh;
She look'd like her own mourning effigy.
Her sad "good morrow" was as others say
"Good night." We never saw her smile but once,
And then we wept around her dying couch,
For 'twas the dazzling light of joy that stream'd
Upon her from the opening gates of heaven;
That smile was parted, she so gently died,
Between the wan corpse and the fleeting spirit.

_Sir Sim._ [_Aside._] She looks just like her mother.
That pale face
Making its sad obedience a reproach.
If she would flout, sulk, scold, resist my will,
I'd make her have him ere the day grew cold.

_Flor._ Her very kisses chill'd our infant brows;
She pluck'd the very flowers of daily life
As from a grave where Silence only wept,
And none but Hope lay buried. Her blue eyes
Were like Forget-me-nots, o'er which the shade
Of clouds still lingers when the moaning storm
Hath pass'd away in night. It mattered not,
They were the home from which tears never wander'd.

_Sir Sim._ [_Aloud._] I shall lose patience shortly.
Oh, that gout!
Here, girl, assist me. Would you see me fall?

_Flor._ Well, father, leave me to myself awhile.
I would obey you if I could.

_Sir Sim._ That's right.
You know I'm rough, but then who loves you like
A father? You ought not to try me thus;
Indeed you ought not. Come, my dear, we'll go,
And find your cousin. [_FLORENCE hesitates._] Hey! not now? Beware,
'Tis better now! no nonsense. Come, come, come.
You know you can do what you please with me,
But then you must be more obedient--so!
[_Going slowly, R._]
Your hand! You do me harm, girl! with this strife.
Gently--your cousin never frets me thus. [_Exeunt, R._]

[_Enter BASIL reading a letter, WILLIAM following, L.
FLORENCE returns, R., and steals behind them, and
listens to their conversation._]

_Basil._ [_With a letter in his hand._] Good William,
thou shalt drink to me. [_Gives him money._]
And art thou still called thirsty William?

_Will._ What answer shall I bear to my master?

_Basil._ Thy master? 'Tis a good youth, though a
wild--I hope he be well. Yet, frankly, I would that
he had not just now returned. Our uncle is so violent,
and will not hear his name. Arthur hath been so
imprudent, loose, eh? William, I regret the old man
hath heard of these things.

_Will._ My master is a very Puritan, sir!

_Basil._ [_Aside._] Let his worth go begging, then--but
he will soon be bad as his fortunes demand. Your
poverty-stricken gentlemen were better on the coast of
Barbary than in this civilized country. And whatever
he do, he shall be judged harshly. [_Aloud to William._]

I doubt not--Lies, lies; I said so at the time. Then
you see my cousin Florence, a simple girl, trembles
at his very name. You cannot wonder at it;--such
stories have been told. Confess now, William, thy
master hath been a prodigal. Doth he pay thy wages?
Thou art scurvily clad. I have a place now--as it were.

_Will._ I desire no better, sir! I thank you, than
where I am.

_Basil._ Oh! I did not mean unless you had left my
brother first. Now, he desireth a thousand pound.
Simply I have it not. There is no rent paid now.
I would he had written rather than come. I will
give him five hundred that I have, if he will pledge
me his honourable word to leave England for five
years. Are there not wars abroad whereby men live?--

_Will._ And die!

_Basil._ I would I could see him. But I have
promised mine uncle not, and he cannot bear any shock
to his health. Go, tell him this.

_Will._ Worshipful Master Basil! you will excuse
me, but I must speak my master's mind. He saith
he hath signed away his inheritance to thee, and that
he expects this small gift, ere he comes among ye.
He is but in sorry plight of dress, and he hath ever
shown much affection for you.

_Basil._ Does he threaten? Hark ye, I owe him
nought. Let justice be done. The fortune was mine
by birth. Our father acted basely. My brother did
very properly restore it. Shall he boast of a bare act
of justice? He hath no claim on me. Shall I
furnish his profligacies, his expenses, his foreign
debaucheries, because I have gotten back mine own?

_Will._ You will not see him?--

_Basil._ No!

_Will._ Nor send him the money?--

_Basil_. No! except with the proviso I told thee of.

_Will._ You have no other message?--

_Basil._ No!

_Will._ Oh! Well, sir, I think the execution of my
barren commission needs no farther stay. Touching
that small portion of mammon wherewith thou wouldst
endow my master's passage across the seas, in his
name I will venture to refuse the gratility.

_Basil._ Wouldst jest, villain? There are stocks!
Back to the beggar that sent thee. [_Exit R._]

[_WILLIAM going, L., FLORENCE approaches him from behind._]

_Flor._ Good friend! I have heard something of
your discourse. I would fain see thy master.

_Will._ Art thou not his cousin, lady?

_Flor._ I am.

_Will._ He hath often spoken of thee far hence.

_Flor._ We were children together. Is his temper
sweet as it used to be? Hath he grown taller? I
have much to say to him. Is he sunburnt? Doth
he wear a beard? They say much ill of him.

_Will._ Lady! believe it not; [_aside_]--for I affect
much his society. [_Aloud._] He is a good master and
kind, though of a strange mood. For women, he
cannot abear them.

_Flor._ Indeed! Good friend, nevertheless I must
see your master. Bring me to him.

_Will._ I am going to the inn, where he awaits me.
Will it please you to meet me opposite the old barn in
two hours?

_Flor._ I will, I will, for I need his advice much.
I am sore distressed. Here is for thee. Lose no time!
[_Gives him money._] Farewell! [_Exit R._]

_Will._ By'r lady, angels! both of them. [_Exit L._]

SCENE III.

_An extensile landscape, with a road on the L;
overhung with foliage. A Country Inn, U.E.R. Table,
chairs, villagers sitting, a waiter bringing in
refreshments during the symphony of the following_

GLEE and CHORUS.

Cold, oh! cold the March winds be;
High up in a leafless tree
The little bird sits and wearily twits,
The woods with perjury:
But the cuckoo-knave sings hold his stave,
(Ever the spring comes merrily)
And "O poor fool!" sings he--
For this is the way in the world to live,
To mock when a friend hath no more to give,
Whether in hall or tree!

[_The villagers retire severally._]

[_Enter WILLIAM, L._]

_Will._ So this publican hath ceased to be a sinner!
To think now of old sophisticate Gurton being called
Hezekiah Newborn. Gadso, he babbles of salvation
like the tap his boy left running this morning to see
the troop of cavaliers go by. Yet I marked the
unregenerate Gurton swore round ere Newborn found his
voice to upbraid sourly as becomes a saint. He hath
been more civil since I heard him. O Newborn,
how utterly shalt thou be damned!

[_Enter HOST._]

_Host._ The Lord be with thee, young man. It did
seem to me that thou wert discoursing aloud in
prayer. Doth thy master desire any creature-comfort?

_Will._ Master Gurton! thy belly hath kept pace
with thy righteousness.

_Host._ Ha! Who told thee my carnal name? I
prithee abstain. It doth remind me of the bonds of
the flesh.

_Will._ Simply, thou art known to me. I am William
Nutbrown.

_Host._ Nay! What, mine own friend Will, that had
his bastard fathered on me? Why, he was a youth!

_Will._ He was! A youth of promise. Behold the
fulfilment in these legs, this manly bosom!

_Host._ O wonderful! and to think I knew thee not!
But thou art horribly, and as it were most monstrously
improved? Will Nutbrown! to be sure--and whence
comest thou?

_Will._ From the land of beccaficos, mine old
Newborn! but thou understandest not--thou hast merely
observed the increase of local timber and the decay of
pigeon-houses. Thy sole chronicle hath been the ripe
birth of undistinguishable curly-headed village
children, and the green burial of undistinguished village
bald old men hath been thine only lesson. Thou hast
simply acquired amazement at the actions of the man
of experience. Doth a quart measure still hold a quart?

_Host._ Alas! more--I will tell thee of it. These be
sore times for us. You must know there hath been a
Parliament commission of inquiry into weights and
measures, and last Michaelmas a year, no! let me
see--well, marry! there came down--

_Will._ Well, well, thou shalt finish anon.

_Host._ It went nigh to kill me.

_Will._ Thou shalt tell me all hereafter.

_Host._ Damnation! but I am glad. The Lord
forgive me! I had nearly sworn.

_Will._ Thou hadst--nearly.

_Host._ And art thou a vessel of grace, or a brand
given to the burning? Of a verity--

_Will._ Come, no lies with me! I shall doubt thee
if thou cantest one word except in thy calling. Yet
I saw by thy first look thou wert glad to see me; so
give me thy hand, and I will shake it ere some one
calls for a draught of ale, and thou dost relapse into
the sordid and muddy calculation that makes thy
daily self, and so forget that the friend of thy youth
hath revisited thee. Nay, fear not, I will not betray
thee to thy present customers. But first tell me, why
thou art so changed: seeing that the cavaliers should
be thy best friends?

_Host._ Friend Will! Twill tell thee--the cavaliers
drink lustily, and of claret and sherris with spice,
whereas, it is true, the elect chiefly do affect ale. But,
O Will! your cavalier--not to speak of my keeping
never a serving wench honest for a month, and I have
daughters now grown--your best cavalier would ever
pull out a long embroidered purse, with one gold piece
in it, regarding which he would briskly swing it round,
and jerking it together, replace in his doublet, saying
between his hiccups, "Prithee, sweet Spigot!" or it
may he, "Jolly Master Gurton! chalk it up; when the
king hath his own again, I will repay thee;" or "I
will go coin it from Noll's ruby nose," and would ride
away singing, and in a fortnight the poor gentleman
would surely be slain. And, as for your worst kind of
cavalier, when I did gently remind him, he would
swear and draw his rapier and make a fearful pass
near my belly--that I was glad to see him depart
with a skinful of mine own wine unpaid for.
Moreover, Master Will, an he were handsome and a
moon-raker, my wife, that is now at rest, would ever take
his part, and cry shame on me for a cuckoldy villain
to teaze a sweet, loyal gentleman so, that would pay
when a could--moreover--

_Will._ Hold! Thy reasons are sufficient--Thou art,
worthy Hezekiah! become a saint, to escape
martyrdom. Methinks I see the gallant foin at thy belly.

[_Draws his sword and makes a feint at the Host._]

Sa! sa!

_Host._ Have a care--[_William makes feints._]

_Will._ I shall die! Gadzookers! thus, was it
thus!--and thy wife--a cuckoldy villain--merely a figure
of speech though, Master Gurton! Eh? Thou didst
not suspect?

_Host._ Wilt thou be quiet; I see no jest.

_Will._ Nay, I'll be bound not. Sa! Sa!

_Host._ Laugh an thou likest; but put up thy toasting-iron.

_Will._ Well, thou hast reason for thanksgiving.
But I think thy wife was right, if the poor
gentleman's thrust was drunken, 'twas a compliment to
thy wine. A scurvy rogue to ask for his money
when he was poor, and thy wine did affect him.

_Host._ But to speak seriously, good Will, what
bringeth thee here? Who is thy master! Can I
assist thee in anything?

_Will._ Well, I pity thee, and will say no more. My
master is young Arthur Walton. He hath returned.
He gave up the fortune to his brother Basil.

_Host._ I thought he was settled abroad.

_Will._ No! no! He is here, and now he wanteth
assistance from his brother; for we are in some
present straits, and this Basil will have nought to say
to him. What I shall want of thee is information of
the family; and mayhap thy daughter will have to
see Mistress Florence for us with a message.

[_Enter TAPSTER and two or three Roundhead Soldiers, L._]

_Tap._ Master, master! here be soldiers quartered on us.

_Will._ The Philistines be upon thee!

_Host._ O Lord!----be praised. See directly and
water the double ale--Tell my daughter to lock up
the Trinidado tobaccos--Haste!

[_Enter IRETON, HARRISON, and Soldiers, L.U.E._]

_Ire._ [_Reading Papers._] Give us to drink, good
measure; for the flesh is thirsty. That we have shall
be paid. Who is that fellow [_points to William_] with
his sword drawn?

_Har._ Ha! a malignant.--Smite him!

_Sold._ Lo! he shall die.

_Host._ Hold! hold! 'tis an innocent youth. He
did but draw his weapon to defy the evil one. He is
strong in prayer. [_To William aside._] Speak quickly,
an thou lovest thyself--something from Tobit, or the
Psalmody.

_Har._ Thou hearest--Sin-Despise! touch not the
youth. Lo, I myself have wrestled with the powers
of darkness. [_To William._] In what shape cometh he?

_Will._ With horns, an't please you, [_Aside._] very
like Master Newborn there.

_Har._ [_To himself._] With me 'tis different. In the curtain'd night,
A Form comes shrieking on me,
With such an edg'd and preternatural cry
'T would stir the blood of clustering bats from sleep,
Tear their hook'd wings from out the mildew'd eaves,
And drive them circling forth--
I tell ye that I fight with him until
The sweat like blood puts out my burning eyes.
Call you this dreaming?

_Will._ [_Aside to the Host._] Dost think the gentleman eats suppers?

_Ire._ A plague upon his damn'd repentant fancies!

_Har._ [_Still to himself._] 'Twas on the heath,
As he did gripe and hold it from his breast,
He cut my blade with fifty pallid fingers,
On his knees, crying out
He had at home an old and doating father;
And yet I slew him!
There was a ribbon round his neck
That caught in the hilt of my sword.
A stripling, and so long a dying? Why
'Tis most unnatural!

_Host._ [_Aside to William._] I would not have his
conscience to be vintner to the Parliament.

_Will._ [_To Host._] Nor I, for my master to be a
fat-witted Duke, and I his chief serving-man.

_Ire._ Here we need counsel, and he raves of dreams
And devils. Yet, 'tis true, he fights as if
He were possess'd by them.
Come, Harrison!
Will you not hear how fortune dawns upon us?--

_Har._ Ay! indeed--
Excuse me, Ireton, I was something absent;
I think my health of late is shatter'd much.
Sometimes I talk aloud. Did I not speak
But now of Joab in the Bible,
And how he did slay Abner?--
Thou know'st I read the Scripture very oft.

_A Trooper._ Ay! he goes to bed with it under his
pillow, lest the evil one should prevail. Desborough
told him of it.

_Har._ Heard you of Falkland's death?

_Ire._ At Newbury?--
I did. On either side, in this sad war
The good and noble seem the ripest fruit,
And so fall first.

_Har._ Thus let them perish, all
That strive against the Lord.
Is Cromwell nigh?--

_Ire._ He will be here anon.

_Har._ [_To himself._] The mighty men
Of Israel slew _all_. It was a sin
To spare the child in the womb.
I am a fool
To shiver thus to think that night must come.
The lion trembles at the sun's eclipse,
But, not for murder of the innocent lamb.
Who walks across my grave?--

_Ire._ Come, let us go:
I cannot pray or wrestle in the spirit;
But let us talk of earthly fights and toils.
I love fat quarters in a Bishopric
As well as any preacher of us all.

_Har._ Come, men, to quarters--
In four hours' time we march
To join Lord Essex--see your girths are slack'd,
Your pistols prim'd, your beasts fed, and your souls
Watching for grace, the word is "Kill and slay"--
'Twere best all eat, for I will fast and pray.

[_Exeunt HARRISON and IRETON, R.S.E._]

_A Soldier._ [_To William._] I say, wilt thou discourse?

_2nd Sold._ Give him a text.

_3rd Sold._ He lacketh speech--He is a dumb Amalekite.

_1st Sold._ I will even awaken him with a prick of my sword.

_Host._ Nay! he is strong in the word. [_To William._]
Preach something, if thou beest wise.

_Will._ What the devil!--

_3rd Sold._ Ay! uplift thy voice against Beelzebub.

_Host._ Thou couldst talk fast enough just now.

_Will._ Gurton! for this I will undo thee.
Newborn! thou didst just now water thine ale. Hezekiah!
thou dissemblest, which is more than thy wife used
to do; for she feared thee not.

_Host._ I pity thee, and will say no more.

_1st Sold._ Here is a stool, let him mount thereon.

_Will._ These be ignorant knaves. I will practice
on them. It may come to good. [_Mounts the stool._] The
Lord leadeth his people through the wilderness to
salvation, crinkeldom cum crankeldom. [_Mutters to himself._]

_Soldiers._ Hum!

_Will._ Of all thirsts, there be none like that after
righteousness.--[_Mutters to himself._]

_Soldiers._ Hum!

_Will._ [Aside.] For strong ale, which I think hath
to do with the conversion of this Gurton. [_Mutters
to himself._]

_1st Sold._ Lift thy voice higher, that we stumble
not in the dark.

_Will._ [_Aside._] I would I could remember a
text--anything will do--[_Aloud._] The General Cromwell
hath, they say, a red nose, and doth never spit white,
which I look upon as a great sign, as was the burning
bush to Moses!

_2nd Sold._ Ha! Blasphemest thou?

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