_Will._ Ay, ask us, ask me!--Hanging is too good for you. You are found out, and [_points to the Host_] 'twas this blessed old fool that has undone you. Yes, you may look, but your hair will not curl any longer. Your plot is discovered. Noll knows all, and will only spare your life on condition of the colonies. [_During this time Florence and Arthur are locked in each other's arms._] Look there! There is happiness--there's fish-hooks and broken glass bottles and tin-tacks in your gullet. Stomach that. Tol de rol! _Host._ While now they are here, I have a great mind to charge that Wyckoff with my little bill! _Basil._ O guilt, guilt, guilt! Success ne'er lit yet on thy feeble brow, But ever mock'd thee with dissembling leer, Whilst at thy feet graves open, at thy heart Remorse points daggers, and thou walk'st the world, Blood on thine hand and fever in thine eye, Friendless, by that thou lovest scorn'd the most. _Arthur._ [_To Florence._] Thou wilt live now? _Flor._ I would have died for thee, Joy doth not kill! [_Points to BASIL._] O, order them to free him; He is thy brother, would have sav'd thee, though For a base guerdon; yet he would have sav'd thee. _An Officer._ We cannot free him! _Basil._ [_Points to Wyckoff._] Why not take him too?-- He is guiltier than I am.-- _Wyck._ [_Aloud._] Traitor! O Thou most pernicious traitor. [_Aside._] Damn him, coward! He will tell all, unless I stop it thus. [_Draws his sword._] This for the Commonwealth! [_Stabs BASIL._] _Basil._ O, I am kill'd! Will ye see this?-- [_To Arthur._] Revenge me, some of you! [_Falls into the Soldiers arms and is borne off, U.E.R._] _Officer._ [_Points to WYCKOFF._] Seize him, ye have a warrant for his life. The scaffold were defil'd. Unto the gallows! [_WYCKOFF is borne off struggling._] _Wyck._ 'Twas for the state! O mercy! Arthur Walton! He would have slain you! Mercy! mercy-- _Arth._ [_Supporting Florence._] Heaven! How just and awful these thy punishments. _Enter CROMWELL attended, L._ _Crom._ I did you wrong, yet eagerly excused The death I thought you merited. _Arth._ My Lord, I owe no malice, and I wish you well, As you shall deal with England, whose sad shores I fain would quit awhile with her I love, After these heavy griefs. _Crom._ And you will leave me? I would it were not so; for all around I am hemm'd in by doubters. Perfidy Makes mouths at me. Suspicion rears her head, Hissing upon my path. And my friends drop off, Leaving a sting behind! Stay! Arthur Walton, England doth bid thee stay! _Arth._ I came here, when A king did threaten England's liberties, Her charter'd rights. He cannot threaten now. His power has pass'd to others. I am not Ambitious. If they use it well, 'tis well, And I am needed not--