University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

An Apartment in Whitehall.
Enter Ireton, Harrison, and Pride, to Downes and Marten.
Downes.
Welcome to London, Ireton! dearly welcome
To fair Whitehall! Harrison! Pride! Where loiters
The valiant General?

Ireton.
He alighted with us
Three hours agone.

Marten.
What, three hours here, and still
In harness! Know ye not your coat of mail
Is out of date? Go, doff your armour quick,
Provide ye civil suits, grave civil suits,
Sad reverend civil suits.

Pride.
What mean'st thou?

Dow.
Seek
Meaning of Harry Marten! Tush! Where tarries
The pious Cromwell?

Ire.
He is busied still
Disposing the tired soldiery.

Mar.
Disbanding
Will be his business soon. The lubbard people,
And the smug citizens, are grown aweary
Of this rough war. Ye must learn gentler trades
If ye would thrive. Peace is the cry, my masters;
Peace and the King!

Dow.
The Newport treaty speeds;
So far is sure.

Harrison.
But we bring victory
To the good cause. Cromwell hath passed careering
From hold to hold, sweeping as with a besom
The foul malignants from the land. The North
Is ours from sea to sea.

Dow.
'Tis a brave leader;
But peace is ever the best victory.

Enter Cromwell.
Mar.
In good time comes the General. Valiant Cromwell
Thy praise was on our lips.

Cromwell.
Not mine! not mine!
Praise to the Lord of Hosts, whose mighty shield
Bucklered us in the battle, whose right arm
Strengthened us when we smote! Praise to the Lord!
For his poor instruments, the meanest soldier
Doth his great duty; we no more. My masters,
Have ye no news astir? News, the prime staple
Of yonder tattling city?

Mar.
Aye; the worst
Is that the Commons grow from day to day
More doubtful of the army, more possessed
By canting presbyters.

Ire.
Name not the Commons,
A jealous crew, whose envious hate descends
'Twixt every pause of fear on us their loathed
Despised defenders. Were there but one head
To the whole army, they would turn to truth
An elder tyrant's wish, and chop it off.
Despots who prate of liberty!—

Har.
Worse! worse!
A godless yet intolerent crew, who rear
O'er the down-fallen Church that blacker idol
A conscience-fettering Presbytery.

Crom.
Sir,
They shall be quelled. Power, howsoever called,
Is still the subtlest snare the Tempter weaves
For man's frail sinful soul. Save me from power!
Grant me to follow still, a lowly soldier
In the great cause! The Commons shall be quelled.
What other news?

Dow.
The best is that the King
And the Commissioners draw near a godly
And salutary peace. The King hath bent
His will in a wise humbleness; and now—

Crom.
I joy to hear thee say so. What! the Lord
Hath turned his heart, and he hath yielded up
His haughty prelates, his ill councillors,
The popish mummery of his chapel?

Dow.
Nay,
Not yet; but he hath promised.

Crom.
Promised! Oh
The King hath promised!

Mar.
Well?

Crom.
And ye believe?

Dow.
Would'st have us doubters?

Crom.
In good sooth, not I!
Believe who can! yet ere ye set him free
Look to the stuffing of his saddle, search
The waste leaves of his prayer-book, lest ye find
Some vow to Henrietta, some shrewd protest,
Some antedated scroll to throw the shadow
Of a plain lie before his words. Search! search!
It is a prudent King, that casts about him
To rid him of his enemies. Search, I say.

Dow.
Why, Cromwell, thou art bitter.

Crom.
Heaven foresend!
I liked Charles Stuart well. I am of the fools
Whom Habit counts amidst her slaves; that love,
For old acquaintance sake, each long-known pest
And close familiar evil. I liked him well;
The better that his proud disgracious speech
Seemed to my plain and downright simpleness
As honest as mine own. Ye all remember
What friends we were at Holmby. Harrison
And e'en my loving kinsman deemed I waxed
Faint in the cause. But rightly it is written
In the one Holy Book, Put not thy trust
In Princes.

Ire.
Yet is he in Carisbooke
A present danger. Round yon prison isle
Lurk spies and plots and treasons. Every breeze
Comes pregnant with quick rumours; every ear
Is bent to listen; every eye is turned
On those grey walls.

Crom.
I grant ye. But astir,
Free as the breeze to traverse sea and land,
Creep in our councils, sweep across our camps,
Were the King harmless then? Yet thou art right;
He's dangerous in Carisbrooke.

Har.
Dismiss him;
Send him abroad unkinged; or drive him forth
As Amaziah.

Crom.
(Aside)
Ha! And they slew him!

Mar.
What, send him to seek succour in each court,
From papal Rome to savage Muscovy,
Till he shall burst on us in triumph, heading
Europe's great armament.

Ire.
Wert thou a soldier,
And in this cause, thou would'st cry Welcome, Marten,
To such an armament.

Har.
With His great help.

Crom.
Aye, with His help and in this cause, if union
Dwelt in the land. But this is idle talk.
The King is dangerous; dangerous on the throne,
Dangerous in prison, dangerous abroad,
At home and everywhere. Yet this is idle.
We must abide the Commons' treaty.

Har.
Wherefore
Lifts not the army the strong hand of power
Over these stiff-necked rulers? Put them down.
Tread out the firebrands.

Ire.
Rather move the Commons
To bring the King to trial.

Crom.
Who said that?

Mar.
'Twas bravely spoken.

Crom.
Who said that?

Dow.
The words
Sounded like treason.

Crom.
Sir, had we met here
To compass such intent, the very thought
Had been a treason. But the words fell straight
Midst our unconscious hearts, unprompted, quick,
Startling even him who spake them,—like the fire
That lit the Burning Bush. A sign from Heaven!
Direct from Heaven! A comfortable light
To our benighted spirits! As I wrestled
In prayer this morning, when I would have cried
For mercy on Charles Stuart, my parched tongue
Clave to my mouth. A token from on high!
A star lit up to guide us!

Mar.
Yet the Commons
Will scarcely echo this rapt strain. The King
Hath friends amongst us.

Har.
Fear not. He who sent
This impulse on his servants will know how
To turn all hearts.

Dow.
Ye will not slay the King?

Crom.
Life hangs not on our lips. Yet surely, Sir,
I hope to spare him. Friends, we must not sleep
Over such stirring business. Downes, go thou
For Bradshaw, that resolved and learned and wise
And godly law-man. Thou art like to find him
At the Guildhall. Say we would speak with him.
(Exit Downes.
Harrison!—Downes went forth as one who loves not
His errand—Lacks he zeal? 'Tis a brave soldier,
And yet—Follow him, Marten; and return
With Bradshaw hither. We shall need thy counsel.
Delay not.—
(Exit Marten.
Harrison! thou truest soldier
Of the good cause, to thee we trust the charge
Of guarding our great prisoner. Make thee ready
For a swift journey. I'll confer with thee
Alone afore thou goest.

Har.
Should I not see
The General?

Crom.
Wherefore? Hence.
(Exit Harrison.
(To Pride)
Nay, Colonel, go not!
I'd speak with thee, good Colonel. Rest thee, son,
I'd speak with this good Colonel.

Pri.
I attend
Your Excellency's pleasure.

(During the next few speeches Cromwell walks up and down the stage, now speaking to himself, now looking at the weather, now asking questions, without attending to the answers, evidently absorbed in thought.)
Crom.
Aye, the light
Mercurial Harry Marten said but sooth;
They are unripe for this great charge. It shall be—
And yet—What is the hour?

Pri.
Upon the stroke
Of one.

Ire.
He listens not. Look how he searches
The weather with unseeing eyes.

Crom.
'Tis stormy.

Pri.
Nay a bright day.

Ire.
He hears not.

Crom.
Sweep them off,
And the whole game is ours! But—Which way blows
The wind?

Pride.
Right from the south.

Crom.
It must be, shall be.
Ireton, I gave thee yesterday a scroll
Of the malignants in the Commons—Hark ye!
The Commons, our great masters! If Charles Stuart
Have friends in England, he will find them there
'Mid those self-seekers.

Pri.
Wherefore not arraign
The King before the Council?

Crom.
Sir, we need
The Commons' name. I would not that our just
And righteous cause lacked any form of law
To startle tender consciences. I have thought
Afore of this. Didst never see the thrasher
Winnow the chaff from the full grain? Good Colonel,
Thyself shalt play the husbandman to cleanse
This sample of foul corn. Take yonder scroll,
And with a troop of horse, go post thyself
Beside the Commons' door, and seize each man
Whose name stains that white parchment. Treat all well,
But let none enter.

Pri.
And my warrant?

Crom.
Sir,
My word. If any question, say the General—

Pri.
Lord Fairfax?

Crom.
Aye, the good Lord General
Shall hear of thy good service. Fear it not.
Myself shall tell him. Thy good service, dearer
Than half a dozen battles; better worth
And richlier guerdoned. Haste! Lord Grey of Groby
Will aid thee to detect the knaves. Away!
Full many a goodly manor shall change masters
To-morrow 'fore the sequestrators.

(Exit Pride.
Ire.
So!
That work will be well done.

Crom.
I loathe myself
That I employ the mercenary tool;
But we are in our great aims justified,
Our high and holy purpose. Saints and prophets
Have used uncleanly instruments. Good son,
Keep between Fairfax and these men. The weak
Wife-ridden faintling would demur and dally,
And pause at every step, and then draw back,
Unapt for good or ill. He must know nought.
Re-enter Harrison and Pride.
What make ye here again?

Pri.
Dost thou not hear?
A mutiny amongst the soldiers.

Har.
Nay,
But half a score malignants, who would fain
Stir up the soldiery.

Crom.
And they?

Har.
They listen,
But move not.

Crom.
Seize the traitors. Shoot them dead;
If any murmur, still them too. Let death
Follow offence as closely as the sound
Of the harquebuss the flash. Art thou not gone?
What stops thee?

Har.
Be more merciful.

Crom.
Why this
Is mercy. If thou saw'st one, match in hand
Approach a mine hollowed beneath some rich
And populous town, would'st strike him down at once,
Or wait till he had fired the train.

Har.
At once!
At once!

Crom.
Well?—Go thou too, fair son! away!
I'll follow on the instant. Look I find
The guilty quiet.
Exeunt Harrison and Ireton.
We have been too easy
And fostered malcontents. Yet this swift vengeance
Will strike a wholesome terror, and the echo
May reach to higher miscreants. Good Colonel,
Thou loiterest overlong. Go, block the door
And let none pass. Be sure thou let none pass.
I must to yon poor traitors. Let none pass.

(Exeunt.