CECIL. (_fiercely_) That hand! Look on it well. What stain hath marred its white Since last we met? And you, most learned Martin, And you, text-mouthing Harrison—what saws Plucked from the rotten tombs of buried codes, What devilish garblings from the holy writ, Gave ye one shade of sanction for that deed Which murdered England's honor in her king? HARRISON. (_interrupting Martin and Ireton, as they are about to reply_) Peace! peace, my brethren! Leave to me the word: Lo, my soul longs to wrestle with the youth. I will expound to him. Thus saith the Lord—— CECIL. Blaspheme not! keep thy dark hypocrisies To shroud thee from thyself! But peace, my heart! I will not waste my wrath on such as these. Most honest Ireton, did they tell me false, Or is thy leader here? thy kinsman, Ireton?— Oh God! hath stout-armed Cromwell come to this!— The master deathsman of your gory crew? IRETON. I would he were, young madman, to requite Thy courteous quoting of his reverent name. Go seek our England's David at his hearth, And chide the arm that struck Goliah down. HARRISON. I will wend with thee, rash idolator! So newly turned to the false gods of Horeb; My soul shall wrestle with thee by the way. CECIL. (_to Harrison, who is about to follow him_) Butcher, fall back!—there is a ghost behind thee, That, with a hueless cheek and lifeless eye, Forbids thee henceforth and for aye to herd With men who murder not. And so farewell! (_exit Cecil_) HARRISON. (_looking fearfully around_) A ghost! said he, a ghost? MARTIN. Ay, General, ay; And he who stands upon the deadly brink Of Cromwell's ire, may well behold the ghosts He goes so soon to join. (_Enter a Puritan Soldier_) SOLDIER. Worshipful Sirs, The council of the faithful is assembled, And the Lord President entreats your presence. IRETON. Come, Martin; come, bold-hearted Harrison, Bradshaw awaits. HARRISON. Get thee behind me, Satan! I fear thee not! thou canst not harm the righteous. Ghost, quoth he! ghost! Seest thou a ghost, good Ireton? IRETON. What, in broad day? Fie, General! HARRISON. Satan walks Daily and nightly tempting; but no more! We'll to the council. Verily, my soul Darkens at times the noon! The fiend is strong. (_exeunt_) SCENE III.—A Room in Cromwell's House. The Lady Claypole. Edith. LADY CLAYPOLE. So leave we, then, the Past! The angry sky Is cleared by that same thunderstroke which cleaves The roof of kings; the dark time's crowning evil Is o'er; the solemn deed, that stern men call Necessity, is done;—now let us hope A brighter day for England!