Arth. Oh, hear me yet:
I had not join'd you, save I thought he sinn'd;
I had not counselled, fought with you like brothers,
But that I deem'd your cause was just, and honour'd
Of good men and of God—I had not given
My childish prejudice and old belief
To carry arms against my country's king,
But for the sake of mercy and of justice,
And here I take my stand.
Crom. Why then stand there, till we come back again. 'Tis time to part—Come, Ludlow!
Arth. Hath he not
Virtues that might rebuke us all?—ay, virtues
More excellent in him than all his subjects, since
All Sin doth aim at Kings, to be her own.
'Tis hard for princes to outshine in worth
The meanest wretch that from his road-side hovel
Shouts forth with hungry voice, "Long live the King!"
Crom. O wise and excellent argument, that
There should be no more kings.
Why spoil a man
That hath a soul, a precious soul, to lose,
To make a king that cannot help but sin?
Let there be no more kings.
Arth. Then kill not Charles, For Charles the Second, reigns in England then.
Crom. Hum, perchance—
Arth. He hath done us no offence,
Ye would not slay him, if ye had him here.
I tell ye, banish Charles, this present man,
And none shall question, whilst his feeble race
And name shall dwindle hence, as shall arise
The fair proportions of our Commonwealth
On the decay of kings, not on the death
Of one weak monarch.—
What! doth any here
Wish that himself be king?
Crom. He raves!
Vane. Nay! listen! He hath much reason.
Crom. [Throws a cushion at Ludlow.] Ho! there regicide! Have at thee! [Confusion.]