Eliz. Nay! father, hear me—­

Crom. Away, puss!  Where are Richard and thy husband?

Eliz. I will not leave thee, ’till thou promisest—­

Crom. As the Lord liveth, is it not enough
To struggle with a royal hypocrite,
To keep his feet from falling, ’mid dissension,
On all sides, worse than chaos, liker hell! 
To be thus baited, by one’s own pale household,
Prating of what they may not understand? 
Thy brother Richard with his heavy step,
Ploughing his way from book-cas’d room to room,
With eye as dull as huckster’s three-day’s fish,
And just as silent; then thy mother with
Her tearful and beseeching look, that moves
Like a green widow in a mourning trance,
The very picture of “God help us all;”
And thou, with sickly whining worse than they,
Do ye think I shall do murder? 
Why not go
At once unto the foe, and there be spurn’d
By Henrietta, that false Delilah?—­
Or plot my death for loyalty?  What is
A father in your minds weigh’d with a king? 
Yet what is “king” to you? ye were not bred
To lick his moral sores in ecstasy,
And bay like hounds before the royal gate
On all the world beside—­Go hence! go hence! 
I would be left alone—­

Eliz. O father, hold! 
And pardon me for my distracted thought. 
Thou knowest best, and I am wrong indeed: 
I did but pine to see thee more with us,
To see thee happier—­

Crom. My child, my child! 
Mercy shall look with eyes like thine on me
Though justice frown beside. [Takes her hand.]
Look up, my child! 
Ask what thou wilt except our country’s shame.

[Cromwell hands Elizabeth off, R., and remains looking after her.]

Enter, R.D.U.E., MILTON, IRETON, BRADSHAW, MARTEN, HARRISON (who brings a saddle and places it upon the table), LILBURNE, ARTHUR WALTON, LUDLOW.  Enter, L., Sir HARRY VANE, HACKER, same time.

Brad. [A letter in his hand.  To VANE and HACKER, who have just entered.] So, gentlemen—­Had you been here just now, you would have heard at length, this precious information, which our worthy General Cromwell, and Ireton here, have laid before us.  A letter to the Queen, and secret intercourse with France—­a rare betrayal, and richly worded too.  ’Tis well we have friends at court, ere now it had been at Dover.

Vane. I thought he did stand pledged to all we ask’d.

Har. The royal Judas! [Cromwell comes forward.]

Crom. O sirs!  It is but A king’s prerogative to break his faith.  We are not fitting judges of this thing.

Har. But we will judge.  I say, whose dogs are we!

Crom. Peace, Harrison.  Thou naughty traitor!  Peace.

Ireton. Away with all, save vengeance on the deed.

Brad. [After placing the letter in the saddle.] There! in that greasy, patch’d and reeking leather, Lies a king’s royal word, a Stuart’s honour, The faith of Charles, his most majestic pledge Broken, defil’d, dishonour’d evermore.