_Mrs. Cromwell:_ I don't know what will happen. I sometimes think the world isn't worth quarrelling about at all. And yet I'm a silly old woman to talk like that. But Oliver is a brave fellow--and John, all of them. I want them to be brave in peace--that's the way you think at eighty. (Reading.) This Mr. Donne is a very good poet, but he's rather hard to understand. I suppose that is being eighty, too. Mr. Herrick is very simple. John Hampden sent me some copies from a friend who knows Mr. Herrick. I like them better than John does. (She takes up a manuscript book and reads:) Lord, Thou hast given me a cell Wherein to dwell; A little house, whose humble roof Is waterproof; Under the spars of which I lie Both soft and dry.... But Mr. Shakespeare was best of all, I do believe. A very civil gentleman, too. I spoke to him once--that was forty years ago, the year Oliver was born, I remember. He didn't hold with all this talk against kings. _Elizabeth:_ There are kings and kings. Oliver finds no offence in kings--it's in a king. _Mrs. Cromwell:_ Well, it's all very dangerous, and I'm too old for it. Not but what Oliver's brain is better than mine. But we have to sit still and watch. However-- (reading) Lord, 'tis thy plenty-dropping hand That sows my land: All this, and better, dost thou send Me for this end: That I should render for my part A thankful heart, Which, fired with incense, I resign As wholly Thine: But the acceptance--that must be, O Lord, by Thee. Mr. Herrick has chosen a nice name for his book. Hesperides. He has taste as well as understanding. (The sound of horsemen arriving is heard.) _Elizabeth:_ That will be John and Mr. Ireton. (She looks from the window, puts her work into a box, and goes out.) _Mrs. Cromwell_ (turning her pages): Ye have been fresh and green, Ye have been filled with flowers, And ye the walks have been Where maids have spent their hours. Like unthrifts, having spent Your stock, and needy grown, You're left here to lament Your poor estates alone. (ELIZABETH comes back with JOHN HAMPDEN, aged forty-four, and HENRY IRETON, twenty-eight. They both shake hands with MRS. CROMWELL.) _Hampden:_ How do you do, ma'am? _Mrs. Cromwell:_ Well, John. _Ireton:_ Good-evening, ma'am. _Mrs. Cromwell:_ You're welcome, Master Ireton, I'm sure. If you behave yourself, young man. _Ireton:_ How may that be, ma'am? _Mrs. Cromwell:_ No, don't ask me. Only don't you and John come putting more notions into Oliver's head. I'm sure he's got more than he can rightly manage as it is. _Hampden:_ We were told down there that it's to-morrow that my Lord of Bedford and his like are to claim the common rights. _Elizabeth:_ Yes. _Ireton:_ Mr. Cromwell is to resist, they said. _Mrs. Cromwell:_ Now, young man, Oliver doesn't need any urging to it. He needs holding back.