Bland words, and specious, vulgar eloquence,
And large oaths, with the tongue thrust in the cheek,
And promises, as if they were as gods,
And no God held the forked bolt above! 
Turning all ignorance, disaffection, hatred,
Religion, and the peasant’s moody want,
To glut themselves with hard-wrung copper coins,
Verjuic’d with hot tears, thin and watery blood;
Brazening the conscious lie unto the world
That it was done for hallowing Freedom’s sake,
Until the names of “Freedom,” “Patriot,” stank,
Blown on and poison’d by these beggar lips;
That men had need to coin fresh words to mean
The holy things with stale use so defil’d.

Arth. But Charles hath not done this!  Our poet friend, Full of the knowledge of all times, hath painted A picture all in vain.

Vane. But he hath done
A mischief similar—­I see the point—­
Hath he not arm’d the bigot, ghastly wretch,
To stab our English lives? hath he not sown
A crop of wild sedition, discord, hate,
Using the vain creed of the rabble herd
To wage this war against us?

Ire. Hath he not Tamper’d with France, our curst fantastic foe, And natural enemy?

Brad. Did he not first Unfurl his bloody standard to the winds At Nottingham, since when peace hath not smil’d On all this tortur’d land?

Har. And are we not,
The servants of the Lord, betray’d, despis’d,
Insulted, wrong’d, by this false Ahab?—­Come,
Let him stand forth before his peers—­the people,
And die the death!—­
Cromwell, what sayest thou? 
Why dost thou lack speech?

Crom. I am mute to think
Of what ye all say—­words—­ye dare not do it—­
I say ye dare not, though ye were to die
Not doing, what your gross and eager speech
Makes easier than to cough, or spit, or cry
“God save the King;”—­but ere your thought hath fled
A rood, a yard into the empty air,
Dissolv’d is your high counsel, and Dismay
Whips all the noble blood that fir’d your cheeks
To the pale mantle of a creamy fear. 
Fie! fie! ye dare not do it—­nay, son Ireton,
What, Harrison so boisterous? keep your frowns
To look upon his trial, since ’tis so—­

[Pointing to IRETON.]

Now hath he not a traitorous brow like his,
Perchance, that did stab Caesar? those were days
When men did e’en as much as they dar’d hint at.

Har. I said not stab, but bring him to the block: 
Let God’s eye be upon the multitude,
Theirs on the scaffold, the attesting sun
Shine on the bare axe and th’ uncover’d head. 
It is no coward act, lest he might sin;
For he hath sinn’d, until our very dreams
Bid England’s tyrant die.

Arth. Oh, hear me yet: 
I had not join’d you, save I thought he sinn’d;
I had not counselled, fought with you like brothers,
But that I deem’d your cause was just, and honour’d
Of good men and of God—­I had not given
My childish prejudice and old belief
To carry arms against my country’s king,
But for the sake of mercy and of justice,
And here I take my stand.