IN former times, when wit was no offence, And men submitted to be pleased with sense- Then was the stage fair virtue's fav'rite school, Scourge of the knave, and mirror of the fool. Here oft the villain's conscious blush would rise, And fools become, by viewing folly, wise. Our bard, as then, despises song and dance, The notes of Italy, and jigs of France: With home distress he nobly hopes to move, And fire each bosom with its country's love- So much a Briton-that he scorns to roam To foreign climes, to fetch his hero home Conscious that in these scenes is clearly shewn Britain can boast true heroes of her own. Murder avowed by law he boldly paints,
Heroes and patriots, hypocrites and saints; Rebellion fighting for the public good, And treason smiling in a monarch's blood. Party, be dumb- -in each pathetic scene, Our muse, to-night, asserts an honest mean; Shows you a prince triumphant o'er his fate, Glorious in death, as in misfortunes great; By nature virtuous, though misled by slaves, By tools of power, by sycophants and knaves, When Charles submits to faction's deadly blow, What loyal heart but shares the monarch's woe? Nor less Maria's grief, ye gentle fair,
Claims the sad tribute of a tender tear. From British scenes to-night we hope applause, And Britons sure will aid a British cause.
Enter Bishop JUXON and Duke of RICHMOND. Jur. Good day, my lord, if, in a time like this, Aught that is fortunate or good can happen; When desolation, wedded to despair, Strides o'er the land, and marks her way with ruin :
Plenty is fled with justice; rage and rapine Have robb'd the widow'd matron, England, quite, And left her now no dowry-but her tears.
Rich. Is it then certain that the lawless com
Have formed a court of justice (so they call it) To bring the king to trial?
And though the lords refus'd to join the bill, Yet they proceed without them. Lawless man! Whither, at last, will thy impieties, Thy daring insolence extend, when kings Feel from a subject-hand the scourge of pow'r? Where may an injur'd monarch hope for safety, If he not find it in his people's hearts?
Rich. Oh, Naseby, Naseby, what a deadly stroke
Was thy ill-fated field to royalty! On thy success depended monarchy; The fate of rebels and the fate of kings Hung on thy battle: but thou, faithless too, Conspir'd with faction to o'erthrow us all, And bring to sight these more than bloody times.
Jux. To-morrow does the black tribunal sit When majesty is cited to appear
Before his tyrant subjects. Oh, preposterous! Is't not as bad as if these rebel hands
Should from their seats tear forth their ruling eyes,
Whose watch directs the body's use and safety? Rich. It cannot be! 'Tis not in cruelty To think of spilling royal blood. Mercy, sure, And the pretended justice of their cause, Will save them from the weight of so much guilt. Jux. What added guilt can that black bosom feel,
That has shook off allegiance to its king? Whole seas of common and of noble blood Will not suffice; the banquet must be crown'd, And the brain heated with the blood of kings. But see where Cromwell comes! upon his brow Dissimulation stamp'd. If I can judge By lineament and feature, that man's heart Can both contrive and execute the worst And the most daring actions yet conceiv'd. Ambitious, bloody, resolute and wise, He ne'er betrays his meaning till he acts, And ne'er looks out but with the eye of purpose. His head so cool, that it appears the top
Of Alpine hill, clad with slow-wasting snow; His execution rapid as the force
Of falling waters thund'ring down its base. Let us avoid him; for my conscious soul Fears him in wonder, and in praise condemns him. [Exeunt.
Crom. Now through the maze of gloomy policy Has fire-eyed faction worked her way to light, And deck'd ambition in the robe of power. Our fears in Charles's safety are remov'd, And but one blow remains to fix our stateThe lopping off his head. No more the royal
Shall, from legitimacy's root, presume
To sprout forth tyrant branches. Commonwealths
Own no hereditary right, unless our worth Shine equal to our birth. Wherefore, at once, Down with nobility-the commons rule! Avaunt prerogative and lineal title, And be the right superior merit.
Fair. I was to seek you, sir'; some lab'ring doubts,
Which, in the uncertainty of these strange times, Call for the ray of clearness, make me press (Perhaps unseasonably) to your ear. You will forgive the impatience of a man Who labours to be right-by your example. Crom. Good Fairfax, spare me; I am ill at words,
And utter badly where I mean respect: Uncouth my answers are to truth and plainness; But to a compliment I ne'er could speak: Yet could you look into my secret mind, There my soul speaks to Fairfax as to one Book'd in the fairest page of my esteem, And written on my heart-But to your doubts.▾ Fair. You may remember, sir, when first my
My fortune, life, and still, yet more-my honour, Were all engag'd to fight the cause of justice; You thought, with me, the wrongs to be redress'd Were the attempts upon the subjects' right, The unregarded laws, and bold design To stretch prerogative to boundless rule. Design full fair and noble! and th' event Has crown'd our utmost wishes. England owns No arbitrary sway; the king's adherents Are all dispers'd, or the remains so few, They are not worth a fear; the king himself In close confinement. Now, let reason judge, And blend discretion with success. Let us be just-but let us stop at justice, Nor by too hasty zeal o'ershoot the mark. The Roman spirits, savage as they were,
When they determin'd to abolish kings, Shed not the blood of Tarquin, but expell'd him; And shall we, owners of the Christian law, Where mercy shines the foremost attribute, Be harder to appease? If not more mild, Let us not be more cruel than barbarians. Charles grasped, we own, at arbitrary sway, And would have been a tyrant-for which crime The kingdoms he was born to we have seiz'd. But let us not despoil him of his life. Crowns, as the gift of men, men may resume; But life, the gift of Heaven, let Heaven dispose of. Crom. Well have you weigh'd each growing circumstance,
And held discretion in the nicest scale. Our fears remov'd, the subjects' rights restor❜d, What have we more to do, than to sit down, And each enjoy the vineyard of his toil? Tis true-but yet some clamours are abroad; Petitions daily crowd the parliament, That loudly call for justice on the king, Imputing to his charge the guilt of murders, The desolation that has bared the land, And swept the crops of plenty from our fields. Fair. What, shall the rabble judge-those ser- vile curs,
Who, as they eat in plenty, snarl sedition? Are these to be regarded?
Crom. You mistake me.
'Tis not their outcries only; but, indeed, Those who see farther, and with better judgment, Fear, while he lives, his friends will never die; But, by some foreign force or home design, May some time shake the safety of the state. Besides, they speak of an approv'd good maxim, Remove the cause, and the effect will cease. Oh, worthy Fairfax, thou art wise and valiant! I have seen thee watch occasion, till advantage Came smiling to thy arms, and crown'd thy pa-
And then, in fight, I have beheld thy sword
Outfly the pace of pestilential air,
And kill in multitudes.
Fair. Good sir, forbear.
And what the world may yet expect of Fairfax. The diamond, merit, in the quarry hid, Being unknown, unseen, attracts no eyes; But, digg'd up by the lab'rer's curiosity, And polished by the hand of gratitude, It shines the ornament of human life.- Think therefore what you are, and what this juncture:
The fairest lock of fortune is display'd, And should be seiz'd on by the bold and worthy. Fair. You talk in clouds above my purpose
Which was but to enforce the cause of mercy, And show how much is gain'd by stopping here; To tell you what my conscience makes opinion, And strengthen that opinion by your voice.
Crom. 'Tis true indeed-I had forgot myself; But whither was I hurried in my zeal? E'en I can descant on a pleasing theme: Can you forgive me? though 'tis hard indeed: Exalted virtue can with ease forgive
A calumny, but not a praise.-No more. Heav'n can witness for me, with what true accord My thoughts meet yours! how willing I would stop
The arm of violence, and make the law, Stern as she is, assume a face of smiles. The death of Charles is far from my design- And yet the general outcry is for justice: He has been much to blame, you know he has ; And (but I soften those unruly thoughts) Were I to speak the dictates of my heart, I could not find a punishment too great, To fall upon the man, who should, like Charles, Forget all right, and waste with lavish hand The rich revenue of his people's love.
Fair. Dearly he suffers for misguided steps, And knows that misery he meant to give; He feels the bondage he design'd for us, And by the want of freedom counts its value. Crom. I pity him; and would the commons think with me,
He were as safe as Cromwell; and, brave Fair- fax,
Crom. Blush not to hear a truth, when Crom- We will endeavour it; and may that power,
My uncouth manner, ill at varnishing, Beggars my will, and dresses praise uncomely. Methinks I see thee in the rage of battle, When Naseby's field confess'd thy victor arm, And thy decision was the fate of kings. Methinks I view thee in the bustling ranks, Where danger was the nearest-(for you brought it)
Unhelm'd, encounter armies, and despise The safety that the meanest soldier wore; And when a private man, with bold assertion, Challeng'd a conquest which your arm had gain'd, And was reprov'd; methinks, I hear you say, I have enough of glory, let him own it. Fair. Whither does all this tend? I pray for-
I never fought in hopes to have it told: The man whose actions speak, expects no answer. Crom. I do but barely tell thee what thou art,
Whose arm has fought the battle of our cause, Incline them all to think like you-or me! [Aside. I will about it. Yet remember, Fairfax, The posture of these times: consider too, How great your expectations ought to be: Would Fairfax listen to the voice of Cromwell, He should have nearer hopes than Charles's life: Somewhat as great as your desert should crown
Ire. Fairfax, I come, commission'd by the army, To know your pleasure, if you think it meet That they should march and quarter nearer London:
The public safety makes it requisite, But they attend your orders ere they move. Fair. The public safety! Say what new alarm, What danger so awakes security,
That in her fright she thus lays hold of caution? Ire. The safety of the commons, of yourself, Of the high court of justice; who to-morrow Against a tyrant proves the people's power, And brings offending majesty to justice: This may excite his yet remaining friends, Arm'd with despair, to some attempt of danger. Who can be too secure? The man whose pillow Prevention guards, may sleep in ease and safety. Fair. To bring offending majesty to justice? Ire. To the scaffold.
Crom. It is enough, good kinsman, let him go, And yet I could well wish that he was ours——— But 'tis no matter-You began to warm, And the good cause sat burning on thy cheek; Thou hast a well-turn'd tongue: but list thee, Ireton,
Hear my design (for still my heart is thine)--- The commons most are ours: the weeder's care Has, from the garden of our enterprize, Thrown out the rubbish that disgrac'd the soil, And now our growth looks timely. This you saw, When by my means a hundred doubted members Were by the army seiz'd upon their entrance,
And since expell'd the house. Independency Roots itself fast; while presbytery force Withers unseen. Would Fairfax had been ours! Ire. I cannot see that his adherence to us Could prosper much our cause, or his defection Make us decline one moment from our purpose. Crom. You mistake, Ireton: Fairfax stands the first
In interest with the very men I hate : Therefore his joint endeavour would be found The easiest means to bring my point to bear; Besides, he stands the fairest in the love
Of our whole party. Were we link'd together, The army too were ours; and their keen swords Are powerful arguments. We shall thrive, how
I have to do with men, upon whose tempers I know to work---Those who love piety, I with the vehemence of prayer encounter, And through the spirit practise on their passions. Those who are crafty, I subdue with fraud, And wile them to my purpose. To the bloody I promise slaughters, deaths, and executions: Gold gains the covetous; and praise the proud. There is another sort-but they are easy; Your honest men, who never wear distrust; For honesty's the jaundice of the mind, That makes us think our neighbours like our- selves:
Let us together. Ireton, here it lies; When fools believe, wise men are sure to rise. [Exeunt.
Fair. Oh, glory! how deceitful is thy view! Such are thy charms, that o'er th' uncertain way Of vice or faction, thou, to hide the danger, Dost to the outward eye show fair appearance; Which, when the follower steps on, down he sinks,
And then too late looks backward on the path Of long neglected virtue.
Lady Fair. My dearest Fairfax, call not this intrusion;
Long has obedience combated with love,
Thy beauty thy least excellence. Thou appearest Like a fair tree, the glory of the plain,
The root thy honour, and the trunk thy friendship,
(That stands the rudest blast of cold adversity), From whence branch out a thousand different boughs;
Candour, humility, and angel truth, And every leaf a virtue. True, my love, While I conceived our liberties in danger, I fought in their defence; but cannot bear This bold design upon the life of Charles. We took up arms to keep the law entire, Not to defend its open violation.
Lady Fair. I know thy honest heart, it hates
Pervert the justice of thy fair designs, And make thy virtue pander to his will.
Fair. Cromwell has art-but still I think him honest:
Yet in our late discourse his speech, methought, Appear'd disjointed; and he wav'd the theme I spoke about-the safety of the king. At parting too, his words betray'd a purpose Beyond the limits of a commonwealth; And talk'd of highest honours-but I hope That my suspicions wrong him.
Lady Fair. No, my lord;
Rather increase them; keep them still alive To arm against his black designs: discretion, At the surmise of danger, wakes incessant; Nor drops the eyelid till she sleeps in safety. Enter a Servant.
Serv. The duke of Richmond and a reverend bishop
Desire to see you.
Fair. Wait upon them hither; ·
I guess at their desires, and would to Heaven My power could grant them what my wish confirms!
Lady Fair. And wherefore not, my lord? The army yours,
Who can dispute your will? Command them hither,
And be their threats the safety of the king. Fair. Betray my trust! Thou canst not mean such baseness.
Should I (which much I doubt, for Cromwell's faction
Equals my power, and more, among the soldiers) Make them revolt, what would my conscience say?
'Twould be a mountain crime, a molehill good. The whiteness of my fair design to Charles, Spread o'er the visage of the means that gave it, Like thinnest lawn upon an Æthiop face, Would cover, not conceal, the blackness.
Virtue and baseness never meet together. Enter Bishop JUXON and Duke of RICHMOND.
Jux. A mournful errand, good my lord of
Makes us thus rude.-My gentle lady, stay; Your voice will help the music of our plaint, And swell the notes to moving melody: Ill-fated Charles, deserted as he is,
Lives in your fair report (or fame has err'd); Join in our concert, as you are next his heart, You know to touch the string that sounds to pity.
Fair. My lords, I guess your purpose, and assure you,
If my persuasion or my wish avail, Charles feels no stroke till nature gives the blow. Long may the fruit of health adorn the tree, And ripen with his years in warmer times!
Rich. 'Tis truly spoke, my lord, and worthy Fairfax,
Whom I have still considered in this light; As nobly just, and but at worst misled.
Jur. How would this man adorn the royal
To see the widow's and the orphan's sorrows; Complaint had been my language, care my bed, And contemplation my uneasy pillow. Now by your hopes of mercy plead this cause; Know it a labour that will pay itself, E'en in this world-and when you mount above, You will behold it of so vast a value, It will outweigh th' offences of your life.
Fair. Without this intercession, good my lord, I had done all within my feeble power; Yet think what outcries din the parliament, How many zealots call aloud for justice! Then think what you may hope, and what not
Lady Fair. No matter, Fairfax, 'tis a virtuous
And heaven will bless the purpose with success. Jur. There Mercy spoke, and in her softest
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