helms
Of all our best bent down. Alas! alas!
That I should see this day---

[_Looks about and finds his son._]

What's this, my son!
Wounded? my disobedient child?
I thought of him
But now in charging, as I met a foe
That beat my sword-arm down--had he been there
I had not suffer'd--nay, what colours these?
_Against_ the king?--he is my son; I'll bear
Him off, and win him to his king and me.

[_Takes him up, several cross the stage flying.
Musketry from L. to R. A shot strikes the
Old Man, who falls. Several officers and
soldiers enter fighting with swords and firearms._]

_CROMWELL enters pursuing, L. to R._

_Crom._ Strike home! spare none! The father with the son,
That fights for tyranny. [To a Trooper.] Give me thy sword!
Mine own is hack'd with slaying--
Where is Rupert?
The haughty Rupert now?--
Where is this king,
That tempts the God of battles?--Are they gone,
That cost these precious lives?

[_Here the sun breaks out in splendour and lights
up the battle-ground behind._]

"Let God arise,
And let his enemies be scattered!"

END OF ACT II.

ACT III.

SCENE, I.

[_1st Grooves._]

_An apartment in Cromwell's house._

_Enter CROMWELL, ARTHUR, the LADY ELIZABETH, L._

_Crom._ To have a home, that is no fitting home,
Is worse than the sad orphan's part, who gathers
His lean crumbs from the world's wide eager table,
And pares the flint-stones borne in stranger breasts,
To eke him out against the cruel winds--

[_Crosses to his daughter._]

Thou say'st she was thy playmate--
Come, thou hast
Mov'd the stern soldier to thy woman's will.
Go, sir! [To Arthur.] and fetch this Florence from her roof.
There should be no such scandal done in England,
As the loud insult of a marriage forc'd
Before God's altar.

_Arth._ If they do oppose?

_Crom._ Thy brother is a worker in my hands,
Leave him to me; the old man loves his wealth
Too well. I say, go quickly, and return
With speed direct--I'd have thee near me, [_Aside._] for
Thy noble confidence that dares to speak
The first-fruits of thy mind,--
I have regard [_Aloud._]
For thee, young man, see that you keep it warm
As now--but mind, no swords, as ye are brothers--
Not e'en reproach.--Sweet heart, when foolish mercy
[_To his daughter._]
Doth beg an idle tale from thy dear lips,
Perchance thou'lt seek thy father--until then,
All good be with thee! [_Crosses to R._]
Sir! I will direct [_To Arthur._]
A present escort