2nd Poach. I heard it too.

1st Poach. ’Twas a cricket, or some such fowl.

3rd Poach. There’s some one near.  Look sharp!

4th Poach. Let’s beat about—­ [Loudly] As for the girl, I saw her brought in.  ’Twas a piteous sight—­A love business, mark ye!  I did not find her. [They discover ARTHUR.]

1st Poach. Ha!

4th Poach. Silence him!

3rd Poach. Curse thee, what brings thee here?—­

Arth. Offhands! ye know me not. [To 4th POACHER.]
Thou murderous dog! 
Wilt cut my throat as thou didst hers?—­

[4th POACHER staggers back.]

4th Poach. Will no one finish him?  ’Tis a spy; he will tell of ye all.

[ARTHUR struggles and they strike at him.]

[Enter CROMWELL, R.U.E.]

Crom. Who be these knaves?  What, murder! 
Ha! then strike: 
Down with the sons of Belial!

[Strikes down 4th POACHER with his sword.  The rest fly.]

The Lord is merciful to thee, young man! [To ARTHUR.]
Another moment, and thy soul had fled—­
Wherefore, I hope, since it hath chanced so,
And yet not chanc’d, since ’tis appointed thus,
That no one falls or lives, unless the God
Of battles hath decreed.  Wherefore I trust
Thou art of the good work.

[Enter WILLIAM, R.]

Will. My master bloody?—­ A dead man on the ground!—­a knight of the road by his looks—­ [Sees CROMWELL.] What a grim stranger!

Crom. Sirrah! move That carrion. [WILLIAM going up to his Master.]

Will. Sir!  I wait on this gentleman.  What a look! [Aside.] I am sure he is either the devil, or some great Christian. [Aloud.] I will, my Lord! [Moves the body.] Come along!  To think now this dead, two-legged thing should have been active enough just now to catch a four-footed live deer.  No sooner does a man die, but you would think he had swallowed the lead of his coffin.  Come along!  Lord! how helpless it is!  Why, he shall no more kick at his petty devouring, no, no more than if he were a dead king! [Exit with body, U.E.L.]

Crom. Ha!  ’Tis well said. 
Would that this blood had not been shed. 
’Tis dreadful
To send a soul destroy’d to plead against
The frail destroyer.  Yet I could not help it.
[TO ARTHUR.]
How farest thou now?

Arth. Good sir, I thank you for My life so promptly sav’d—­not courtesy, But breath did fall me.

Crom. ’Tis a fearful thing That I have done.  A life!  I might have struck Less fiercely.  God forgive me for the deed. [To Arthur.] Would he have slain thee?

Arth. ’Twas a murderer Most double-dyed in blood.  I heard them speak His guilt.—­