Crom. Peace, Harrison. Thou naughty traitor! Peace.
Ireton. Away with all, save vengeance on the deed.
Brad. [After placing the letter in the saddle.]
There! in that greasy, patch'd and reeking leather,
Lies a king's royal word, a Stuart's honour,
The faith of Charles, his most majestic pledge
Broken, defil'd, dishonour'd evermore.
Har. Why cry ye not, "God save our righteous King"?
Crom. Through me, he did proclaim, he would accept
Our army's terms. Alas! had we been cozen'd,
I, that believed his false tongue, had betray'd
The hope of Israel—-
Vane. It is true, indeed, He is the slave of his pernicious Queen.
Mar. I say the King of England henceforth is An alien in blood, a bitter traitor— What doth he merit of us?
Ireton. This! 'Tis right That one man die for all, and that the nation For one man perish not—
Crom. Ho! what? son Ireton.
Vane. Alas! indeed he merits not to live.