hall meet soon.
Thou smil'st, sweet Spirit, all the rest grows dim!
See by yon pale and monumental form,
The old man kneeling, weeps. I come! I come!

[_Falls back and dies, her hands clasped in the
attitude of a recumbent marble effigy. During
the latter part, till the interruption, an organ
is heard playing solemn music._]

_Enter a Servant, L.; he makes a sign that some one is
coming. CROMWELL bows his head. Enter a PHYSICIAN,
LADY CROMWELL, and Sisters, L._

_Phy._ Doth she sleep?--

_Crom._ Ay, tread softly, for the ground
Is holy--

_Phy._ [_Addressing the body._] Lady!

_Crom._ He, she answereth,
Is there! [_Points above._]

_Lady Crom._ Dead! oh, Elizabeth!

_Crom._ Why griev'st thou, woman!
Rejoice with the angels rather.
Did I not hear
But now an organ?-- [_To the Physician._]

_Phy._ 'Twas, I think, my lord,
Your secretary, Milton.

_Crom._ Let him come here.

[_Exit PHYSICIAN, U.E.R. During this time, LADY
CROMWELL kneels by the body of her daughter, whilst
a curtain is drawn round the couch. The folding-doors
and curtains close all in as CROMWELL goes, L._]

_Enter an OFFICER and Officers in Naval Uniform
with Despatches, L._

_Offi._ These to your Highness!

_Crom._ [_Tearing them open._] C. From our admiral,
The gallant Blake. Another victory--
The Hollanders have yielded, that did late
Insult our English flag.

[_Shouting is heard without._]

_Milton._ [_Who has entered, U.E.R., unperceived._]
Most humble tenders
From France and Spain await your Excellency.

_Crom._ Ay! we will treat anon.

_Milton._ The Turks have yielded
The traitor Hyde--The Vaudois, sav'd, are blessing,
In their bright peaceful valleys, your great name,
First in their prayers to Heaven--

_An Usher._ Sir, there are messages
From various sects; the enfranchis'd Jews, and all
Whose burdens you have lighten'd, pray to see you.

_Crom._ Let all come in. I need all grateful hearts
Around me now.

_Enter an Officer with IRONSIDES, L._

_Offi._ [_Speaking softly._] My lord!

_Crom._ Speak out, I say!
Thou tear'st my heart-strings with thy whispering.
It is grown a habit here not wanted more.
Sir, I am childless. Speak your message out.
I have no heart now, save for England's glory.

_Offi._ My lord, will't please you to receive these letters?
Dunkirk is ceded to the English crown.

_Crom._ Crown, sirrah?
Where didst thou teach thy tongue that tinsel word?
Go,