Part 21 (2/2)

_1st Gent._ It so happen'd that, Marking his face by chance, I could not keep My eyes from off him.

_2nd Gent._ Ay, how did he seem?

For he had much to do in this great matter.

_1st Gent._ Ere all was ready, while 'mid wolfish noise The patient pale king lipp'd the deafen'd air, O'er Cromwell's face approaching doom grew large In stony horror. Then 'twas calm and fix'd.

Destruction's G.o.d, from his broad, wizard throne, Might on the front of coming whirlwinds, as They near'd his footstool, look unchang'd as he did: Sphinx-like!

But, when the deed was done, The flash that left the swift-descending axe In triumph fiercely shot into his eyes, A moment welling quick successive fires, Like sudden birth of stars 'tween wintry clouds: Then came a look of doubt and wonderment, As if it were a thing he knew not of, And shudder'd at, amaz'd that it was so.

His hollow eye wan'd like the moon's eclipse; And then he clutch'd his sword, and strove to read Men's faces near him, and so, furious, leapt On his black war-horse, standing saddled by, And unattended, save by that red scene, Like an arm'd pestilence, rode swift--away!

_2nd Gent._ You make me tremble with your picture; surely This Cromwell is a great and wondrous man.

_1st Gent._ Unto all fortune doth he shape himself; One knows not where he learnt it.

_2nd Gent._ They do say A something did appear to him in youth, Telling he should be great.

_1st Gent._ I think he hath Whisper'd that round to choke the envious With supernatural awe.

_2nd Gent._ I know not; but He hath great power with the army, gain'd By most corporeal acts.

_1st Gent._ Shall you attend The funeral?

_2nd Gent._ It were not wise, I think; There will be riots. It grows dark.

Good evening!

[_They part, 1st Gent. R., 2nd Gent. L., Exeunt._]

_The stage grows dark. Enter a Drunken Preacher with a Rabble of Soldiers, Artisans, and Women, U.E.L. and R._

_Preach._ So, my beloved, this Ahab has lost his head, as it might be the froth of thin ale. I am thirsty in the fles.h.!.+ Will no man be a surety for a poor preacher of the Lord at the sign of Balaam's a.s.s? 'Tis hard by; and I would speak a few more words of grace on this soul-stirring occasion, but my tongue is parched. Ho! every one that thirsteth, come unto me,--or I will go with you.

_A Soldier._ Hold thy peace; for I would fain speak.

This is a great day in Israel.

_Preach._ Hear me, my brethren! This is a false prophet.

_Sold._ Smite him!

_Woman._ Nay, touch him an' you dare. [_To the Soldier._] 'Tis Master Ephraim b.u.mling. I would thy head were chopped off, like the sour-faced king's this morning.

_1st Art._ Down with all kings!

_2nd Art._ No taxes!

_3rd Art._ We'll all be kings!

_4th Art._ With our heads on, though.

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