Arth. Farewell!

Flor. Farewell!

[FLORENCE runs to the LADY ELIZABETH.]

Arth. [Joining the group.] What is the matter?

One of the Domestics. Sir, the king is sentenc’d To death; it is too much for her—­

Arth. Alas!  Is it even so?—­

Flor. [To Arthur.] Arthur! here, lend your aid To bear her hence—­Elizabeth!  ’Tis Florence—­

[He attempts to raise her.]

Eliz. I tell you I can stand—­
His arm? [Aside.]
Away! [Aloud.]
Sir, do not touch me, you ill-treat my friend!

Flor. To think she heard, my folly—­
Sir, I fancy [To Arthur.]
She will be better, if you are not here—­

[He bows and is about to retire.]

Enter CROMWELL and PEARSON followed by two or three officers.

Crom. Where be ye all?—­
[To an Officer.] These to your Colonel Pride—­
[Exit officer, L.]
And thou to Rich; tell him to watch and fast,
[To another.]
For I have need of him—­[Exit officer, L.]
What coil is this?—­[To his Family.]
My daughter ill! send a physician, quick: 
Pearson, look to it—­
I am ill myself. 
’Twas a sore trial, ye have heard of it—­
The man must die—­

Eliz. No! father, as you hope For mercy, no!

Crom. Peace, simpleton.  It was The voice of all this people.

Arth. General, hear me:  Thou hadst the power to save—­

Crom. Ay!  Master Walton, Thou thinkest so?—­

Arth. I do!—­

Crom. And dar’st to speak it?

Arth. Dare!  General Cromwell! [Takes off his sword.]
Here, look, is my sword,
I’ll never more bear arms with thee or thine.

Crom. I do protest thou wilt not—­
Take his sword; [To an Officer.]
I did not think to find this kite so tame. 
Good, honest Master Walton, tell me now
What news from Langley, virtuous Master Walton? 
Nay, never look with that blank wonderment,
Friend Arthur Walton—­
[ARTH. attempts to speak.] Tush, sir, not a word—­
As the Lord liveth, thou shalt die the death—­
Take him away.  I hate his open brow
More than a dozen dark-fac’d royalists
In arms against us.

Arth. What doth this mean?—­
Frenzy
Hath surely seized him—­

Crom. No! the sense To know thee, hypocrite!

Flor. O Arthur!  Arthur! 
What has he done? [Rushes to his arms.]
Forgive me, dearest Arthur! 
Sir, he’s not guilty—­ [To Cromwell.]

Crom. Silence, woman!  Take him Away!

Eliz. My veins thrill!  Parted?—­No!  No!  No! 
Perish the mean thought—­
Let me aid them, though
I die; then o’er my quiet grave, my thought
Doth sculpture them in prayer—­
[To Cromwell.] He is innocent,
My father!  Let him go—­Do you not see
They love each other?—­