A day with Cromwell: a drama of history, in five acts, by Auctor.

  • Benjamin Ward Richardson
Date:
1869
Catalogue details

Licence: Public Domain Mark

Credit: A day with Cromwell: a drama of history, in five acts, by Auctor. Source: Wellcome Collection.

Provider: This material has been provided by Royal College of Physicians, London. The original may be consulted at Royal College of Physicians, London.

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    Cromwell. [.Aside.]—His voice is firm, and beareth no deceit Even to me. \_To Rachel] Rachel, our heart inclines Strongly to mercy. Rachel.—Do justice ! Cromwell.—Were this thy long- lost boy, what then would’st thou ? Were justice still the cry? Rachel. [Aside.]—The shaft goes home. Can he indeed be mine ? His age would do, his form is as I dream it. It might be he. A murderer ! No ! it is not. Or if it be, I’ll know him not in life. [ To Cromwell] When Abraham had command to take his son, His innocent, and lay him on the pyre, He raised no murmur, but forthwith obeyed. Think’st thou, if this were even as thou say’st, I have less faith than father Abraham ? Or more than he deserved, deserve of Heaven ? No, no ! the covenant is just and true; Keep thou the holy covenant. Do right. Smite'em.—That’s sound doctrine. I like that. Cromwell. \_To Charles.]—Our heart doth bleed for thee; yet we should err, To save thee, as thou stand’st, with no defence. Charles.—I stand to suffer. Haste ! Make haste! make haste! Cromwell.—Thou dost elect thy fate. God pity thee. [Signing warrant] The ink is blood. Oh, take it from my sight. Charles. —Make haste ! make haste! with death upon my lips I do forgive you all: and wish you all At your last hour, the peace I leave with you. Smite'em. [To guards].—Close round the prisoner. March! Enter Josh. Buckthorn, Mrs. Buckthorn and Nora, in great excitement. Josh. — Hold! hold! my Lord, stop ! stop the execution. You send the wrong man to the block, my Lord! The Guards do bring another, who hath come And given up himself: stop ! stop, I pray. Nora. [Rushing to feet of Cromwell.]—Oh, call them back, my Lord! indeed ’tis true. Hark you ! the tramp of feet, they come ! they come !