ACT III.
SCENE, I.
[1st Grooves.]
An apartment in Cromwell's house.
Enter CROMWELL, ARTHUR, the LADY ELIZABETH, L.
Crom. To have a home, that is no fitting home,
Is worse than the sad orphan's part, who gathers
His lean crumbs from the world's wide eager table,
And pares the flint-stones borne in stranger breasts,
To eke him out against the cruel winds—
[Crosses to his daughter.]
Thou say'st she was thy playmate—
Come, thou hast
Mov'd the stern soldier to thy woman's will.
Go, sir! [To Arthur.] and fetch this Florence from her roof.
There should be no such scandal done in England,
As the loud insult of a marriage forc'd
Before God's altar.
Arth. If they do oppose?
Crom. Thy brother is a worker in my hands,
Leave him to me; the old man loves his wealth
Too well. I say, go quickly, and return
With speed direct—I'd have thee near me, [Aside.] for
Thy noble confidence that dares to speak
The first-fruits of thy mind,—
I have regard [Aloud.]
For thee, young man, see that you keep it warm
As now—but mind, no swords, as ye are brothers—
Not e'en reproach.—Sweet heart, when foolish mercy
[To his daughter.]
Doth beg an idle tale from thy dear lips,
Perchance thou'lt seek thy father—until then,
All good be with thee! [Crosses to R.]
Sir! I will direct [To Arthur.]
A present escort for you.