As the music ends, enter the LADY CROMWELL; she approaches her daughter, and, bending over her, lifts her up.
Lady Crom. What is it, child?—I have now heard from Fairfax:
He saith it will not be—Thy father is
But stern unto the last—
He'll pray to God
And God will aid him—
Eliz. But His judgments, mother!
Are awful. Did not Christ condemn the mind
That is polluted with a guilty thought,
As if 'twere done?
Lady Crom. This weary thought of hers
About the king hath turn'd her brain.
Dear daughter,
Rouse thee, he will not die!
Enter a Messenger, others of the family, the LADY FAIRFAX in deep mourning.
Lady Fairf. The king is sentenced. Death! [Bell tolls.]
ELIZABETH, raising herself, falls back into her Mother's arms with a sudden scream. They carry her back.
Enter ARTHUR and FLORENCE.
Arth. Then, madam, let us part—'tis better.
Flor. Yes, I think so, sir.