Where may an injur'd monarch hope for safety,
If he not find it in his people's hearts?
Rich. Oh, Naseby, Naseby, what a deadly stroke Was thy ill-fated field to royalty!
On thy success depended monarchy;
The fate of rebels and the fate of kings
Hung on thy battle: but thou, faithless too,
Conspir'd with faction to o'erthrow us all,
And bring to sight these more than bloody times.
Juxon. To-morrow does the black tribunal sit;
When majesty is cited to appear
Before his tyrant subjects. Oh, preposterous !
Is 't not as bad as if these rebel hands
Should from their seats tear forth their ruling eyes,
Whose watch directs the body's use and safety ?
Rich. It cannot bel 'Tis not in cruelty
To think of spilling royal blood. Mercy, sure,
And the pretended justice of their cause,
Will save them from the weight of so much guilt.
Juxon. What added guilt can that black bosom feel,
That has shook off allegiance to its king?
Whole seas of common and of noble blood
Will not suffice; the banquet must be crown'd,
And the brain heated with the blood of kings.
But see where Cromwell comes upon his brow
Dissimulation stamp'd. If I can judge
By lineament and feature, that man's heart
Can both contrive and execute the worst
And the most daring actions yet conceiv'd.
Ambitious, bloody, resolute and wise,
He ne'er betrays his meaning till he acts,
And ne'er looks out but with the eye of
His head so cool, that it appears the top
Of Alpine hill, clad with slow-wasting snow;
His execution rapid as the force
Of falling waters thund'ring down its base.
Let us avoid him; for my conscious soul
Fears him in wonder, and in praise condemns him. [Exeunt.
Crom. Now through the maze of gloomy policy Has fire-eyed faction work'd her way to light, And deck'd ambition in the robe of power. Our fears in Charles's safety are remov'd, And but one blow remains to fix our stateThe lopping off his head. No more the royal tree Shall, from legitimacy's root, presume
To sprout forth tyrant branches.
Own no hereditary right, unless our worth
Shine equal to our birth. Wherefore, at once,
Down with nobility—the commons rule !
Avaunt prerogative and lineal title,
And be the right superior merit.
Fair. I was to seek you, sir; some lab'ring doubts, Which, in th' uncertainty of these strange times, Call for the ray of clearness, make me press (Perhaps unseasonably) to your ear.
You will forgive th' impatience of a man
Who labours to be right—by your example.
Crom. Good Fairfax, spare me; I am ill at words, And utter badly where I mean respect : Uncouth my answers are to truth and plainness; But to a compliment I ne'er could speak: Yet could you look into my secret mind, There my soul speaks to Fairfax as to one Book'd in the fairest page of my esteem,
And written on my heart-
Fair. You may remember,
-But to your doubts.
sir, when first my sword,
My fortune, life, and still, yet more—my honour,
Were all engag'd to fight the cause of justice;
You thought, with me, the wrongs to be redress'd
Were the attempts upon the subjects' right,
The unregarded laws, and bold design
To stretch prerogative to boundless rule.
Design full fair and noble I and th' event
Has crown'd our utmost wishes. England owns
No arbitrary sway; the king's adherents
Are all dispers'd, or the remains so few,
They are not worth a fear; the king himself
In close confinement. Now, let reason'judge,
And blend discretion with success.
Let us be just-but let us stop at justice,
Nor by too hasty zeal o'ershoot the mark.
The Roman spirits, savage as they were,
When they determin'd to abolish kings,
Shed not the blood of Tarquin, but expell'd him;
And shall we, owners of the christian law,
Where mercy shines the foremost attribute,
Be harder to appease? If not more mild,
Let us not be more cruel than barbarians.
Charles grasp'd, we own, at arbitrary sway,
And would have been a tyrant-for which crime,
The kingdoms he was born to we have seiz'd.
But let us not despoil him of his life.
Crowns, as the gift of men, men may resume;
But life, the gift of Heaven, let Heaven dispose of. Crom. Well have you weigh'd each growing cir
And held discretion in the nicest scale.
Our fears remov'd, the subject right restor'd,
What have we more to do, than to sit down,
And each enjoy the vineyard of his toil?
'Tis true but yet some clamours are abroad;
Petitions daily crowd the parliament,
That loudly call for justice on the king,
Imputing to his charge the guilt of murders,
The desolation that has bared the land,
And swept the crops of plenty from our fields.
Fair. What, shall the rabble judge-those servile
Who, as they eat in plenty, snarl sedition?
Are these to be regarded?
Crom. You mistake me.
'Tis not their outcries only; but, indeed,
Those who see farther, and with better judgment, Fear, while he lives, his friends will never die;
But, by some foreign force or home design,
May some time shake the safety of the state.
Besides, they speak of an approv'd good maxim,
Remove the cause, and the effect will cease.
Oh, worthy Fairfax, thou art wise and valiant!
I have seen thee watch occasion, till advantage
Came smiling to thy arms, and crown'd thy patience:
And then, in fight, I have beheld thy sword
Outfly the pace of pestilential air,
And kill in multitudes.
Fair. Good sir, forbear.
Crom. Blush not to hear a truth, when Cromwell speaks it:
My uncouth manner, ill at varnishing,
Beggars my will, and dresses praise uncomely.
Methinks I see thee in the rage of battle,
When Naseby's field confess'd thy victor arm,
And thy decision was the fate of kings.
Methinks I view thee in the bustling ranks,
Where danger was the nearest-(for you brought it)
Unhelm'd, encounter armies, and despise
The safety that the meanest soldier wore ;
And when a private man, with bold assertion,
Challeng'd a conquest which your arm had gain'd,
And was reprov'd; me hinks, I hear you say,
I have enough of glory, let him own it.
Fair. Whither does all this tend? I pray forbear-
I never fought in hopes to have it told:
The man whose actions speak, expects no answer.
Crem. I do but barely tell thee what thou art,
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