318
CROMWELL
[Rochester snatches the handkerchief from his face, and at the same moment Cromwell turns the rays of the dark lantern upon it.
Richard [recoiling.] The spy!
All the Cavaliers.
'Tis Rochester!
Rochester [to Richard.
Are you the hangman, pray?.
You strangle me, my friend, as if I had
Two souls to render up. In Heaven's name,
Cannot you do more gently your devoir,
Act with the victim more in good accord,
And hang one without squeezing one so tight?
Ormond [in dismay.]'Tis Rochester!
Rochester [half-awake, putting his hand to the handkerchief which is still about his neck.
The rope is round my neck;
But what—I see no gallows. Can it be
They'd hang me, like a screech-owl, to a nail?
Ormond.But where is Cromwell, then?
Cromwell [stepping forward, in a voice of thunder.
Cromwell is here!
Forth from your tents, O Jacob! Israel,
Forth from your tents!
[At this call, the astounded Cavaliers turn, to see that the rear of the stage is occupied by a numerous body of soldiers bearing torches, who have come from all parts of the garden and from all the doors of the palace. Among them are Thurloe and Lord Carlisle. All the windows of Whitehall are suddenly lighted, revealing soldiers, fully armed, on all sides. Cromwell, sword in hand, stands out in bold relief against this brilliant background.
