The Project Gutenberg eBook, Cromwell, by Alfred B. Richards

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Title: Cromwell

Author: Alfred B. Richards

Release Date: December 24, 2004 [eBook #14448]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)

***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CROMWELL***

E-text prepared by Al Haines

CROMWELL

A Drama, in Five Acts

by

ALFRED B. RICHARDS

Author of "CROESUS, King of Lydia," a Tragedy; "VANDYCK," a Play of
Genoa, "DEATH AND THE MAGDALEN," and other Poems; "THE DREAM
OF THE SOUL," and other Poems; "OXFORD UNMASKED;" Part II
of "BRITAIN REDEEMED;" and "POEMS, ESSAYS AND OPINIONS."

London:
Printed by Petter, Duff, and Co.
Playhouse Yard, Blackfriars

MDCCCLII

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

CROMWELL.

MILTON, his Secretary.

ARTHUR WALTON.

BASIL, his Half-Brother.

SIR SIMON NEVEL, their Uncle.

IRETON, Son-in-law of Cromwell.

HARRISON, )
DESBOROUGH, )
BRADSHAW, )
MARTEN, ) Parliamentarians.
LILBURNE, )
HACKER, )
LUDLOW, )
SIR HARRY VANE, )

WILLIAM, Servant to Arthur.

HEZEKIAH NEWBORN, Host.

PEARSON, Attendant on Cromwell.

WYCKOFF, Accomplice of Basil.

BOWTELL, an Ironside.

Cavaliers, Roundheads, Officers, Gentlemen, Soldiers,
Guests of the Inn, Poachers, Citizens, a Preacher,
Old Man, Trooper, Servants, Messengers, &c., &c.

THE LADY CROMWELL.

ELIZABETH, her Daughter.

FLORENCE NEVEL, Daughter of Sir Simon.

LADY FAIRFAX.

BARBARA, Maid of Florence.

Attendants, Women, &c.

CROMWELL.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

[1st Cut.] [2nd Grooves.]

A Lane near a Village. Afternoon.

Enter ARTHUR WALTON and WILLIAM, R.S.E.

Arthur. Give me your arm, my feet tread heavily;
The sameness of this scene doth pierce my heart
With thronging recollections of the past.
There is nought chang'd—and what a world of care,
Of sorrow, passion, pleasure have I known,
Since but a natural part of this was I,
Whose voice is now a discord to the sounds
Once daily mellow'd in my youthful being.
Methinks I feel like one that long hath read
A strange and chequer'd story, and doth rise,
With a deep sigh to be himself again.

Will. One would not think, Sir, how much blood had stain'd
Old England, since we left her, finding thus
All things so peaceful; but one thing I mark'd
As we did skirt the village.

Arth. What was that?

Will. The king's face was defac'd—the sign o' the inn
At jolly Master Gurton's—mind you not
How sad it look'd? Yet 'neath it I've been gay,
A time or two; 'tis not my fortune now:
Those bright Italian skies have even marr'd
My judgment of clear ale.

Arth. I'faith 'twill need A marvellous scant repair.

Will. One jovial day Of honest mud and wholesome English fog.

Arth. That sign! 'twas once the royal head of James;
Some thirsty limner passing made it Charles;
I've heard it said 'twas e'en our good Queen Bess,
By curious folk that trac'd her high starch'd ruff
In the quaint faded back of antique chair,
Her stomacher in Charles's shrivell'd vest—
Who in his turn is gone. Well, take this letter,
See the old knight; but not a word to him.
Stay, I forgot, my little rosy cousin
Should be a woman now; thus—full of wiles,
Glancing behind the man that trusts her love
To his best friend, and wanton with the girls
She troops with, in such trifling, foolish sort,
To turn the stomach of initiate man.
Fie! I care not to hear of her; yet ask
If she be well. Commend me to my brother;
Thou wilt not tarry—he will give thee gold,
And haste to welcome me—go! At the inn
We'll meet some two hours hence.

[Exit R.]

Will. Hem! I doubt much
About this welcoming.—Sad human Nature!
This brother was a careful, godly youth
That kept accounts, and smiling pass'd a beggar,
Saying, "Good-morrow, friend," yet never gave.
Where head doth early ripen, heart comes late—
Therefore, I say, I doubt this welcoming. [Exeunt.]

SCENE II.

[Last Cut.] [2nd Grooves.]

An Apartment in a Manor House.

Enter BASIL WALTON and FLORENCE, R.

Basil. [following Florence.] I'll break thy haughty spirit!

Flor. Will you, sir?—
'Tis base, ungentle, and unmannerly,
Because, forsooth, you covet my poor wealth,
Which likes me not, as I care not for it,
To persecute a helpless girl like me.

Basil. I will protect thee; but accept my love. Nay, do not frown so.

Flor. Love! say'st thou? Profane, Vile misuse of that sacred word. Away! Touch not my hand with your cold fingers—Off!

Basil. Thou foolish child, wouldst throw thyself away
Upon some beggar? were he here, perchance
Thy cousin Arthur? Come, our lands unite,
Be prudent—

Flor. Prudent!
Oh, there is no match
Half so imprudent, as when interest
Makes two, in heart divided, one—no work
So vain, so mean, so heartless, dull and void,
As that of him who buys the hollow "yes"
From the pale lips where Love sits not enthron'd,
Nor fans with purple wing the bosom's fire.
Prudence! to waste a life, lose self-respect,
Or e'en the chance of love bestowed and met?—

Basil. Sweet cousin, wilt not love me?

Flor. No! nor wish To hate thee, could I help it—therefore, go!

Basil. Well then I must— [Seizes her hand.]

Flor. For pity's sake; if not I'll fly thee and my home.

Basil. Ha! leave your father, Desert the old man in his hour of need? Fine ethics, truly. [Advances.]

Flor. Heaven! Leave me, sir—
There something tells me Arthur will return,
Whom you have cozen'd of his heritage,
And then he'll aid me.

Basil. [Aside.] Hath she seen him then, Or heard? I must beware—