1st Gent. Ere all was ready, while 'mid wolfish noise
The patient pale king lipp'd the deafen'd air,
O'er Cromwell's face approaching doom grew large
In stony horror. Then 'twas calm and fix'd.
Destruction's god, from his broad, wizard throne,
Might on the front of coming whirlwinds, as
They near'd his footstool, look unchang'd as he did:
Sphinx-like!
But, when the deed was done,
The flash that left the swift-descending axe
In triumph fiercely shot into his eyes,
A moment welling quick successive fires,
Like sudden birth of stars 'tween wintry clouds:
Then came a look of doubt and wonderment,
As if it were a thing he knew not of,
And shudder'd at, amaz'd that it was so.
His hollow eye wan'd like the moon's eclipse;
And then he clutch'd his sword, and strove to read
Men's faces near him, and so, furious, leapt
On his black war-horse, standing saddled by,
And unattended, save by that red scene,
Like an arm'd pestilence, rode swift—away!
2nd Gent. You make me tremble with your picture; surely This Cromwell is a great and wondrous man.
1st Gent. Unto all fortune doth he shape himself; One knows not where he learnt it.
2nd Gent. They do say A something did appear to him in youth, Telling he should be great.
1st Gent. I think he hath Whisper'd that round to choke the envious With supernatural awe.
2nd Gent. I know not; but He hath great power with the army, gain'd By most corporeal acts.
1st Gent. Shall you attend The funeral?
2nd Gent. It were not wise, I think; There will be riots. It grows dark. Good evening!
[They part, 1st Gent. R., 2nd Gent. L., Exeunt.]
The stage grows dark. Enter a Drunken Preacher with a Rabble of Soldiers, Artisans, and Women, U.E.L. and R.