Enter IRETON.

Ire. Fairfax, I come, commission'd by the army, To know your pleasure, if you think it meet That they should march and quarter nearer London:

The public safety makes it requisite,
But they attend your orders ere they move.
Fair. The public safety! Say what new alarm,
What danger so awakes security,

That in her fright she thus lays hold of caution?
Ire. The safety of the commons, of yourself,
Of the high court of justice; who to-morrow
Against a tyrant proves the people's power,
And brings offending majesty to justice :
This may excite his yet remaining friends,
Arm'd with despair, to some attempt of danger.
Who can be too secure? The man whose pillow
Prevention guards, may sleep in ease and safety.
Fair. To bring offending majesty to justice?
Ire. To the scaffold.

Crom. It is enough, good kinsman, let him go,
And yet I could well wish that he was ours-
But 'tis no matter-You began to warm,
And the good cause sat burning on thy cheek;
Thou hast a well-turn'd tongue: but list thee,
Ireton,

Hear my design (for still my heart is thine)---
The commons most are ours: the weeder's care
Has, from the garden of our enterprize,
Thrown out the rubbish that disgrac'd the soil,
And now our growth looks timely. This you saw,
When by my means a hundred doubted members
Were by the army seiz'd upon their entrance,

SCENE I.

Enter FAIRFAX.

And since expell'd the house. Independency
Roots itself fast; while presbytery force
Withers unseen. Would Fairfax had been ours!
Ire. I cannot see that his adherence to us
Could prosper much our cause, or his defection
Make us decline one moment from our purpose.
Crom. You mistake, Ireton: Fairfax stands the
first

In interest with the very men I hate :
Therefore his joint endeavour would be found
The easiest means to bring my point to bear;
Besides, he stands the fairest in the love

Of our whole party. Were we link'd together, The army too were ours; and their keen swords Are powerful arguments. We shall thrive, how

I have to do with men, upon whose tempers
I know to work---Those who love piety,
I with the vehemence of prayer encounter,
And through the spirit practise on their passions.
Those who are crafty, I subdue with fraud,
And wile them to my purpose. To the bloody
I promise slaughters, deaths, and executions:
Gold gains the covetous; and praise the proud.
There is another sort-but they are easy;
Your honest men, who never wear distrust;
For honesty's the jaundice of the mind,
That makes us think our neighbours like our-
selves:

Let us together. Ireton, here it lies;
When fools believe, wise men are sure to rise.
[Exeunt.

Fair. Oh, glory! how deceitful is thy view! Such are thy charms, that o'er th' uncertain way Of vice or faction, thou, to hide the danger, Dost to the outward eye show fair appearance; Which, when the follower steps on, down he sinks,

And then too late looks backward on the path Of long neglected virtue.

Enter Lady FAIRFAX.

Lady Fair. My dearest Fairfax, call not this intrusion;

Long has obedience combated with love,

And boast a conquest which your foes ne'er could.

If (as I long have thought) the king be wrong'd,
Seek to redress, and not lament his fortunes.
I am a woman, not design'd for war;
Yet could this hand (weak as you think its grasp,)
Nerv'd by my heart's companion, resolution,
Display the royal banner in the field,

And shame the strength of manhood in this

cause.

Forgive this warmth: I ne'er till now, my lord, Gave you unask'd my thoughts; but I perceive Your heart is wounded, and I came to heal it; To offer you the balm of wholesome counsel, And temper my persuasion with my love.

Fair. Thou hast been more than I could hope in woman;

Thy beauty thy least excellence. Thou appearest Like a fair tree, the glory of the plain,

The root thy honour, and the trunk thy friendship,

(That stands the rudest blast of cold adversity), From whence branch out a thousand different boughs;

Candour, humility, and angel truth,
And every leaf a virtue. True, my love,
While I conceived our liberties in danger,
I fought in their defence; but cannot bear
This bold design upon the life of Charles.
We took up arms to keep the law entire,
Not to defend its open violation.

Lady Fair. I know thy honest heart, it hates

a wrong:

'Twas principle, not party, urged thee on
To fight their cause: but Cromwell's specious
wiles

Pervert the justice of thy fair designs,
And make thy virtue pander to his will.

Fair. Cromwell has art- -but still I think him honest:

Yet in our late discourse his speech, methought,
Appear'd disjointed; and he wav'd the theme
I spoke about-the safety of the king.
At parting too, his words betray'd a purpose
Beyond the limits of a commonwealth;
And talk'd of highest honours-but I hope
That my suspicions wrong him.

Lady Fair. No, my lord;

Rather increase them; keep them still alive
To arm against his black designs: discretion,
At the surmise of danger, wakes incessant;
Nor drops the eyelid till she sleeps in safety.
Enter a Servant.

Serv. The duke of Richmond and a reverend bishop

Desire to see you.

Fair. Wait upon them hither;

I guess at their desires, and would to Heaven My power could grant them what my wish confirms!

Lady Fair. And wherefore not, my lord? The army yours,

Who can dispute your will? Command them hither,

And be their threats the safety of the king. Fair. Betray my trust! Thou canst not mean such baseness.

Should I (which much I doubt, for Cromwell's faction

Equals my power, and more, among the soldiers) Make them revolt, what would my conscience say?

'Twould be a mountain crime, a molehill good. The whiteness of my fair design to Charles, Spread o'er the visage of the means that gave it, Like thinnest lawn upon an Ethiop face, Would cover, not conceal, the blackness. No, my love,

Virtue and baseness never meet together.

Enter Bishop JUXON and Duke of RICHMOND.

Jur. A mournful errand, good my lord of
Fairfax,

Makes us thus rude.-My gentle lady, stay;
Your voice will help the music of our plaint,
And swell the notes to moving melody:
Ill-fated Charles, deserted as he is,

Lives in your fair report (or fame has err'd);
Join in our concert, as you are next his heart,
You know to touch the string that sounds to
pity.

Fair. My lords, I guess your purpose, and as

To see the widow's and the orphan's sorrows;
Complaint had been my language, care my bed,
And contemplation my uneasy pillow.
Now by your hopes of mercy plead this cause;
Know it a labour that will pay itself,
E'en in this world-and when you mount above,
You will behold it of so vast a value,
It will outweigh th' offences of your life.

Fair. Without this intercession, good my lord,
I had done all within my feeble power;
Yet think what outcries din the parliament,
How many zealots call aloud for justice!
Then think what you may hope, and what not
fear.

Lady Fair. No matter, Fairfax, 'tis a virtuous

And be yourselves the witness of his answer.Good Cromwell, welcome! And let my petition, Join'd with these lords, prevail upon your pity; Let Charles have life: is that so hard a boon? In lieu of three fair kingdoms, give him life. Crom. Why this address to me? Am I the parliament ?

'Tis they who justly call him to account, And form this high tribunal.

I

Jux. Justly, Cromwell!

Crom. Ay, good bishop, justly!

cry your mercy. By the good old cause! It is but gratitude in you to plead: Episcopacy was the rock he split on; And he has ventured fairly for your lawn: How learnedly did he uphold your cause, When Henderson inveigh'd against your mitres! Did he not write full nobly? Say'st thou, bishop? Jur. His conscience prompted him to what he did;

His zeal for us can never be forgotten.

Crom. His conscience! you say true-his con-
science did it;

He would have stretch'd to arbitrary sway,
And swallow'd down her liberties and laws:
His conscience would have soon digested them.

Fair. Let us not into insult turn our power; Good fortune is not wedded to our arms: Conquest, like a young maiden with her lover, If roughly treated, turns her smiles to frowns, And hates where once she lov'd.

Crom. I stand corrected.

To me then you apply in Charles's favour,
And wait my answer, which is briefly thus;
I am but one, and (as the weaker must)
Flow in the current of majority:
My single voice, be it against or for,
Avails him little: if the rest incline
To think of mercy and of Charles together,
'Tis fairly done, and e'en to Cromwell's wish:
This is the sum of all I can deliver-
Fairfax, I have matter for your private ear.
Jur. We humbly take our leaves.
Fair. My lords, farewell!

[Exeunt Jux. RICH. and L. FAIR. Crom. How can you waste your time on trash like this?

Were Fairfax' honour to be doubted, this might

make

The child suspicion grow to certainty;

But we are confident in you: your actions speak.
Yet, Fairfax, do not let thy noble eye
Catch the contagion of weak-judging pity,
And sympathize with beggars. To my purpose:
The council, at whose head your wisdom sits,
Weighing some depositions 'gainst the king,
Would have your judgment's sanction: they re-
quest

Your presence there; I bear their will with plea

sure.

Fair. It is not needed, sir.
As to the purpose of their meeting, say,
If they incline to mercy, let their charge
Be weaker than it is: but if to rigour,
They have, I fear, too much of that already:
Let them (if friendly Fairfax may advise)
Judge with that candour they expect of Heaven,
Crom. You will not go then?
Fair. Say I cannot go.

My reason pleads against so bad a deed,
And inclination holds me; nay, yet more,
A secret impulse strikes upon my soul,
Which, though I had the will, would yet detain

thee,

And to retain thee part with pomp and titles?
To buy thy presence, the gold-watching miser
Will pour his bags of mouldy treasure out,
And grow at once a prodigal. The wretch,
Clad with disease and poverty's thin coat,
Yet holds thee fast, though painful company.
Oh, life! thou universal wish, what art thou?—
Thou'rt but a day--a few uneasy hours:
Thy morn is greeted by the flocks and herds;
And every bird that flatters with its note,
Salutes thy rising sun: thy noon approaching,

Then haste the flies and every creeping insect
To bask in thy meridian; that declining,
As quickly they depart, and leave thy evening
To mourn the absent ray: night at hand,
Then croaks the raven Conscience, time mis-spent;
The owl Despair screams hideous, and the bat
Confusion flutters up and down-

Life's but a lengthened day not worth the waking for.

Enter Queen,

My dearest queen!

I have been summing up the amount of life,
But found no value in it, till you came.

Queen. Do not perplex yourself with thoughts like those:

Ill-fortune at the worst, returns to better;
At least we think so, as it grows familiar.
King. No, I was only arming for the worst.
I have try'd the temper of my immost soul,
And find it ready now for all encounters.
Death cannot shake it.

Queen. Do not talk of death:

The apprehension shakes my tender heart;
Ages of love, I hope, are yet to come,
Ere that black hour arrives: such chilling thoughts
Disgrace the lodging of that noble breast.
King. What have I not to fear, thus close
confin'd,

To-morrow forc'd to trial? Will those men,
Who insolently drag me to the bar,

Stop in the middle of their purpose? No.
I must prepare for all extremities:
And (be that Power ador'd that lends me com-
fort)

I feel I am.- -Oh, do not weep, my queen!
Rather rejoice with me, to find my thoughts
Outstretch the painful verge of human life,
And have no wish on earth-but thee! 'Tis there
Indeed I feel: peace and resignation
Had wander'd o'er the rooms of every thought,
To shut misfortune out, but left this door
Unclos'd, through which calamity

Has enter'd in thy shape to seize my heart.

Queen. Be more yourself, my lord; let majesty Take root within thy heart, nor meanly bend Before ill-fortune's blast.

King, Oh, doubt me not!

'Tis only on the side where you are plac'd,
That I can know a fear. For Charles's self,
Let fierce encounter with the sword of danger
Bring him to bloodiest proof; and if he shrinks,
Despise him. Here, I glory in my weakness.
He is no man whom tenderness not melts,
And love so soft as thine. Let us go in.
And if kind Heaven design me longer stay
On this frail earth, I shall be only pleas'd,
Because I have thy presence here to crown me.
But if it destines my immediate end,
(Hard as it is, my queen, to part with thee),
I say, farewell, and to the blow resign,
That strikes me here-to make me more divine.

[Exit,

SCENE I.

Enter CROMWELL and BRADSHAW. Crom. It shall be better, Bradshaw: do not think

Desert, though lowly plac'd, escapes our eye;
To me it is as precious in the valley,
As glittering on the mountain's top:-
I praise myself that I have found thee out:
Tis not my favour, Bradshaw, but thy worth
Brings thee to light; thou dost not owe me
aught.

Now, Bradshaw, art thou our high president.
Thou hast a heart well tempered to the cause:
Thou look'st on monarchy in a true light,
And where the cause is just wilt shut out pity.
Pity!

The fool's forgiveness and the mother's tear,
The indiscretion of the unpractis'd maid,
Who through that organ hears her lover's plaint,
And listens to her ruin.

Brud. My good sir,

Think not of Bradshaw thus. My soul is firm;
The melting eye and the relenting heart
Ne'er wrong'd my resolution. As to kings,
To monarchy, and to superior state,
That I disclaim'd; till your exalted merit

Alter'd my purpose in my own despite,
And, when I meant to level, rais'd you high.
Crom. Spoke in a hearty zeal for our good

cause.

That I have the same thoughts of thee, let this,
Thy present weighty office, speak, which should,
If Cromwell's nature bent to partiality,
Have fallen upon my kinsman, Ireton; one
Of good regard, and hearty in the service:
But Cromwell's heart points only to desert,
The north of all his purpose. Thou art ours;
And though thy modesty at first declin'd
To sit our head, and lead our counsels right,
Yet I determined not to lose thy worth,
If importunity could win it,

Brad. True, sir;

I own I thought myself unequal to it,

Nor am I yet convinc'd; yet what I want in

merit,

I will make out in rigour on the king,
In justice to the people and to Heaven.
Crom, Bradshaw,

Thou art the very sinew of our cause;
The spirit of design and warmth of zeal
Glow in thy purpose. I adore that man,
Who, once resolv'd, outflies e'en expedition.
Thou art the glory of our brotherhood!

And spare not to reproach, to taunt and blacken,

But my haste wrongs it.

Crom. Go to, Bradshaw.

[Exit.

Such are the tools with which the wise must work:

And yet he too is wise, and might cajole
A weaker than himself, and does.

He is my proper instrument

To operate on those below my notice.
Thus by comparison are all things known;
And by such under-steps as him, and lower,
Do the ambitious mount to fame and honour.
Besides, I choose me those whom zeal inflames,
Who failing to convince you, will compel:
Such, prompted by enthusiasm's force,
And in predestination's armour cas'd,
Will to the mouth of danger plant their breasts,
And out-fight phrenzy and despair. But lo,
Where Ireton comes!

Ireton,

And let those sums of money I have ordered
Be secretly dispers'd among the soldiers;
It will remind them of their promises:
Gold is specific for the memory.

O gold! wer't not for thee, what great design,
What bold ambition, that outstretches justice,
Could have success! Thou buy'st our very
prayers:

Thou art the head of opposition,

And the tooth of faction. Wer't not for thy aid,
Success would vary like th' uncertain wind,
And honesty might prosper. Hie thee, Ireton;
I must to the king; I have some bills to offer
him,

Which, for the life of Charles, Charles would not sign:

And his refusal turns to our advantage.
Thou shalt know more hereafter-Now dispatch.
Ire. Good sir, I fly.

Crom. Ha! whom have we yonder?
O, 'tis the wife of Fairfax! once as hearty,
As zealous for the cause, as Cromwell's self,

And wrought her lord to think so. Now, Ō

woman!

Such is thy varying nature, that the waves
Are not more fluctuating than thy opinions,
Nor sooner are displac'd. To her is owing
The wayward pity of her vassal lord.

Oh, 'tis certain danger to have such a woman,
Who, when man leaves himself to toy with her,
Knows how to win, and practise on his weak-

ness.

But let me think-All women may be won.
The dame of Ephesus, the Anne of Richard,
Show us a woman's grief and resolution.
Why may not she be wrought up to my pur-
pose?

I can approach in what they like, in flattery.

Enter Lady FAIRFAX.

Lady Fair. Stay, worthy Cromwell, and attend my prayer

Hear me and may thy answer be propitious,
As this kind hour that favours my address!
O may my falling tears, that plead for mercy,
Drop on thy heart, and melt it to compliance,
Nor disregard the suit because a woman's!
Cromwell is noble; and the noble soul
Grants the most free indulger.ce to the weak,
Because its generous nature pleads their cause.
Crom. Such is a woman's weakness, that she
thinks

T'impose on us by what allures herself:
But I must turn this project upon her,
And fairly put it to an equal proof,
Who best dissembles, Cromwell-or a woman.

Exit.

Vain as

you think

I came to say