CROMWELL. [hastily] I'll not receive them;
Another time for this.
CECIL. There is no other.
I came to chide thee, Cromwell; ay, to chide,
Girt as thou art with power: but thou hast ta'en
The sternness from my soul, and made the voice
Of duty sound so grating to my ear,
That, for mine honor, I, who fear thee not,
Do fear my frailty, and will trust no more
My conscience to our meeting.
CROMWELL. Wouldst thou say
That thou wilt leave me?
CECIL. Yes.
CROMWELL. And whither bound?
CECIL. The king's no more; and in his ashes sleep
His faults. His son as yet hath wronged us not:
That son is now our king!
CROMWELL. Do I hear right?
Know'st thou, rash boy, those words are deadly? Know'st thou,
It is proclaimed “whoever names a king
In any man, by Parliament unsanctioned,
Is criminal of treason?”
CECIL. So 'tis said;
And those who said it, were themselves the traitors.
CROMWELL. This, and to me!—beware; on that way lies
My limit of forbearance.
CECIL. Call thy guards;
Ordain the prison; bring me to the bar;
Prepare the scaffold. This, great Cromwell, were
A milder doom than that which I adjudge
Unto myself. 'Tis worse than death to leave
The flag which waved above our dreams of freedom—
The Chief our reverence honored as a god—
The bride whose love rose-colored all the world—
But worse than many deaths—than hell itself,
To sin against what we believe the right.