_3rd Poach._ As if plenty didn't die in these wars-- _1st Poach._ Or the girl, Gregory! eh? the girl by the well, with her finger cut, and her throat-- _4th Poach._ Damn thee, have done! She was dead, ere I found her, and I did but take-- _1st Poach._ The ring, thou wouldst say. _2nd and 3rd Poach._ Come, confess now! _Arth._ [_Aside_] This is black devilry. Alas! poor England! How many private, sleeping villanies Now wake to horrid life that else had slept, But for the times' most bloody anarchy? _2nd Poach._ They say this Cromwell is near these parts. _4th Poach._ I heard another speak! [_Loud_] I never saw the girl till she was brought in, I tell ye. _2nd Poach._ I heard it too. _1st Poach._ 'Twas a cricket, or some such fowl. _3rd Poach._ There's some one near. Look sharp! _4th Poach._ Let's beat about-- [_Loudly_] As for the girl, I saw her brought in. 'Twas a piteous sight--A love business, mark ye! I did not find her. [_They discover ARTHUR._] _1st Poach._ Ha! _4th Poach._ Silence him! _3rd Poach._ Curse thee, what brings thee here?-- _Arth._ Offhands! ye know me not. [_To 4th POACHER._] Thou murderous dog! Wilt cut my throat as thou didst hers?-- [_4th POACHER staggers back._] _4th Poach._ Will no one finish him? 'Tis a spy; he will tell of ye all. [_ARTHUR struggles and they strike at him._] [_Enter CROMWELL, R.U.E._] _Crom._ Who be these knaves? What, murder! Ha! then strike: Down with the sons of Belial! [_Strikes down 4th POACHER with his sword. The rest fly._] The Lord is merciful to thee, young man! [_To ARTHUR._] Another moment, and thy soul had fled-- Wherefore, I hope, since it hath chanced so, And yet not chanc'd, since 'tis appointed thus, That no one falls or lives, unless the God Of battles hath decreed. Wherefore I trust Thou art of the good work. [_Enter WILLIAM, R._] _Will._ My master bloody?-- A dead man on the ground!--a knight of the road by his looks-- [_Sees CROMWELL._] What a grim stranger! _Crom._ Sirrah! move That carrion. [_WILLIAM going up to his Master._] _Will._ Sir! I wait on this gentleman. What a look! [_Aside._] I am sure he is either the devil, or some great Christian. [_Aloud._] I will, my Lord! [_Moves the body._] Come along! To think now this dead, two-legged thing should have been active enough just now to catch a four-footed live deer. No sooner does a man die, but you would think he had swallowed the lead of his coffin. Come along! Lord! how helpless it is! Why, he shall no more kick at his petty devouring, no, no more than if he were a dead king! [_Exit with body, U.E.L._] _Crom._ Ha! 'Tis well said. Would that this blood had not been shed. 'Tis dreadful To send a soul destroy'd to plead against The frail destroyer. Yet I could not help it. [_TO ARTHUR._] How farest thou now? _Arth._ Good sir, I thank you for My life so promptly sav'd--not courtesy, But breath did fall me.