Reeking may they return, and to the hilt
Bathed in a king's blood for the second time!
Pride.At Westminster doth Cromwell seek his tomb!
Of his disloyal sect, to hell foredoomed,
The high priest he; he fain would be its idol.
Let him upon the altar, all prepared
For his own festival, be sacrificed!
Ludlow. If he doth place the crown upon his head,
Wolsey and Goffe and Skippon, officers
Of his own guard, will join with us and strike.
Nought can him save from our avenging blades.
Fleetwood, his son-in-law, and Desborough,
His sister's husband, will not interfere;
For, steadfast in the faith, republicans
In heart and soul, they love him better dead
Than king.
Harrison. To Desborough and Fleetwood, then,
All honour! Their stout hearts of childish fears
And woman's sympathy no knowledge have!
Ne'er did so fair a sunrise greet my eyes.
Ah! what a victim we shall smite to-day!
Ne'er have I known such pride and wondrous joy
In feeling that I go where God doth send me;
Neither when Strafford, bowing to our will,
Did place his head between the blessed axe
And consecrated block; nor when died Laud,
More hateful he, th' infernal meteor
Of the Star Chamber, sacrilegious priest,
Who toward the East his temple altar turned,
That temple wherein Bethel was reborn,—
And, virulent reviler of our Sabbath,
