A large apartment dimly lighted. Tables with writing materials. A practicable door and stairs in L.F., practicable doors, R. and L.U.E.'S, chairs, &c.
CROMWELL enters, R., very much agitated, followed by his daughter ELIZABETH. After pacing across and back, he stops short in the middle of the stage and speaks.
Crom. Have I not promis'd thee that I will save him, If he will save himself? [To his daughter.]
Eliz. Thou hast, dear father.
And then, with blessings on thy righteous name,
Rejecting all they offer thee, vain titles,
And selfish, mean, dishonourable honours,
Thou wilt return unto our natural home
At Huntingdon, and I will read to thee,
As I was wont. Thy hair then will not whiten
So fast, and sometimes thou wilt have a smile
Upon thy countenance, that grows so stern
Of late, I hardly dare look up to thee,
And call thee "dearest father"—
Shall it be?
Did the king speak thee fair?
Crom. [Gloomily.] Too fair, too fair!
E'en to be honest fair. Our good John Milton
Speaks bitter words. He saith Lord Strafford grac'd
Right well the block, that put his trust in him.
What saith the Scripture of the faith of princes?
Eliz. 'Twas not the fault of Charles that Strafford died.
Crom. It was his fault to sign—
He should have died
Himself first. Daughter! urge me not—I'll do
What the Lord wills in this. Go! mind the household,
Thou little Royalist.
Eliz. Nay! father, hear me—
Crom. Away, puss! Where are Richard and thy husband?
Eliz. I will not leave thee, 'till thou promisest—