Des. This then is your work, General Cromwell!  Call you this discipline?

Crom. [To the Soldiers as they enter, R.] Go hence, you rascals.

[Soldiers entering with whooping and shouts.]

Sound bugles! fall in! quick march!

[The Soldiers march round and fall in a line in perfect order, WILLIAM bringing up the rear, shouldering a bone.]

Ire. [To Arthur Walton.] See you now the bent of this?  How he doth make them his own?  I tell you that the day will come, this host shall follow him alone, ay! and perchance England—­

Crom. [To Desborough, who has remained apart, indignant.] Come, Desborough! if thou hast digested thine indignation—­[Taking Desborough’s arm, kindly.]

Ire. As he will never his dinner.

Crom. Thou wilt unto my tent, where is store of wholesome food.

Enter HARRISON, L., hurriedly.

Har. I fear they will not sally forth; our host Meanwhile will melt away.  Despondency Sits heavy on my soul.

[Firing is heard from the town.]

Ire. If they abide In York, we’d best draw off. [Exit ARTHUR, L.]

Crom. But Rupert!  Rupert!  Wilt he not fight—­The fiery-headed fool Will rush out on us from yon fenced town, And then—­Whom have we here?

[An Orderly hastens in.]

Ord. The earl doth bid you Prepare for instant action; Rupert and Newcastle Are forth outside the gates.

Crom. Said I not so?—­ Their hearts are hardened by the Lord of hosts. [Musketry in the distance.] [To an officer entering.] Did you not hear me when I said “Bring up the fascines?” How shall we cross the ditch?  Do you not heed?  Quick, man!

Offi. Even as Balaam said to Balak, Lo!  I will but speak what the Lord hath put in my mouth. [Turning to the Soldiers.] Wherefore, I say, O brethren, be ye as they the Lord set apart to Gideon—­

Crom. [Striking him with his pistol butt.] Take that, thou babbling fool! this is no fitting time to preach.  Ho!  Jepherson.  Bring up the facines.

Enter ARTHUR, L., to CROMWELL.

Arth. Fairfax is beaten, and our right wing scattered.

Crom. Hist! dismay not these.  Doth Rupert follow them?

Arth. He doth fight fiercely.

Crow. Then will I meet him.  Victor to victor, we will close together.  Ho! forward!

[Another Officer enters.]

Offi. The musketry of Belial hath mowed our ranks, and the sons of Zeruiah—­

Crom. Tush, tell me not of Zeruiah, or, by the Eternal, I will smite thee!  Speak in English.

Offi. The Scotch are in disorder.  Lucas, and Porter, and the malignant Goring are playing havoc with them.  Newcastle, with his white coats, is winning on us at the pike’s point.