Crom. I thank you, I have supped ere you have dined.
[Drum rolls. A loud shout of merriment and clatter is heard.]
Des. What is that—in my tent too!
[Looking off, R. WILLIAM comes forward, R.]
By Heaven! rank mutiny. I'll have them shot.
Will. Nay! worthy sir, knock out the priming of your wrath from the matchlock of your vengeance, and abide till to-morrow, when you shall see many a stout fellow and gormandizer to boot levelled. [To Cromwell.] Great Sir! they complain that the wine is thin.
Crom. Go purchase some strong waters. [Gives him money.] I must not have my fellows' stomachs unsettled. Here, thou graceless knave.
Will. An't please you, we had no time for grace; but we return thanks to you, under Heaven.
Des. This then is your work, General Cromwell! Call you this discipline?
Crom. [To the Soldiers as they enter, R.] Go hence, you rascals.