Bridget:
Father, you have done all that a man might do. You have delivered England.
Cromwell:
I have said a word for freedom, a poor, confused word. It was all I could reach to. We are frail, with our passions. We are beset.
(He prays at his mother's bedside, Bridget standing beside him.)
Thou hast made me, though very unworthy, a mean instrument to do the people some good, and Thee service. And many of them have set too high a value upon me, though others wish and would be glad of my death. But, Lord, however Thou dost dispose of me, continue and go on to do good for them. Give them one heart, and mutual love. Teach those who look too much upon Thy instrument to depend more upon Thyself. Pardon such as desire to trample upon the dust of a poor worm, for they are Thy people, too. And pardon the folly of this short prayer, even for Jesus Christ's sake. And give us a good night if it be Thy pleasure.
THE SCENE CLOSES
THE END
[Transcriber's Note:]
The following text was originally printed at the beginning of the book. It is reproduced here strictly for historical interest.