[A trumpet is heard without.]

Hear’st thou? [Walks up and down a moment.] ’Tis
Harrison.  News from the camp
Forget this, honour’d friend! [To Milton.]

Mil. I will, I do!

Crom. Now I could hew my way
Amidst a thousand.  Give me my steel cap,
My sword and iron greaves, my vant-braces: 
I will array in proof. 
What is the shock
Of living squadrons to the armed thoughts,
Whose dark battalions I have just now quell’d? 
I would the clouds of battle roll’d around
This moment.  Lo! my spirit is reviv’d
Like Samson’s, when he drank at Ramath-lehi—­

Enter IRETON and IRONSIDES, L.

What is it?

Ire. Mutiny!  The soldiers swear That they will have their right—­

Crom. Their right, said’st thou? 
Come, Ireton, you and I will give them it;
But, by the Lord, they’ll wish for wrong again
Ere I have done with them.

Ire. ’Twere best to take Your faithful guard—­

Crom. I’ll take none.  What!  They are
Mine own.  I’ll deal with them. 
If thou dost fear,
Son Ireton, stay behind.  What! be afraid
Of my own rascals I have drill’d and led
So frequently?

Come on, I did but need
This pretty farce to stir me.  Mutiny! 
I’ll strike the leaders’ heads off, at the head
Each of his column—­

Follow me, son Ireton! 
No other—­

[Exit CROMWELL and IRETON, L. The guard look amazed.]

Mil. Who thus seeing him, shall say, This man is not Heaven’s chosen instrument? [Exit.  L.]

[The Ironsides follow Milton.]

SCENE II.

[1st Cut.] [3rd Grooves.]

Near the Tower.  A Street in London.

People are seen gazing from windows and balconies.  Slow military music is heard behind the scenes.  It gradually approaches U.E.L.  Enter a procession of Soldiers, in the midst ARTHUR bare-headed.  He looks up to a balcony, where FLORENCE is standing—­she waves a handkerchief and throws it to him.  He kisses it, and placing it in his bosom, smiles, then slowly exeunt, U.E.R.

Enter BASIL hurriedly, L. FLORENCE comes from the door of the house to meet him.  She is dressed in a white robe.

Bas. Well, madam, how is it!  To live or die?

Flor. Oh! hasten, hasten.  They are gone; you may Fall down, be stopp’d, give me the pardon—­quick!

Basil. No!  I think not.  I’ll take it.  Think you of Your promise—­will you keep it?

Flor. Yes! yes! if I live A month, I will be thine.

Basil. Tis well!  I go: 
I am a little lame, but shall be there,
I do protest, in time.  They give some moments
To stale device of prayer; as if they car’d
For him they slay—­What! anxious?  So am I,
That have so great a stake in this event,
To save a brother and to gain a wife—­