SCENE I.

Enter King CHARLES, the Queen, and Lady FAIRFAX.

Queen. Is it like love thus to persuade me hence?

Is it like love, alas! in me to go?
Can she be faithful to her luckless lord,
Who will be absent in affliction's hour?

Is it not then the lenient hand of love

Proves its best office? Then the virtuous wife
Shines in the full meridian of her truth,
And claims her part of sorrow: O, my lord,
Have I been so unthrifty of thy joy,

That you deny me to partake your woe?

And make me more unhappy in thy danger:
Farewell.

Queen. O, yet a little longer!
Each moment now is worth an age before.
Thou never-resting time! 'tis only now

I count thy value. O, my dearest lord!
Who could believe, when first we met in love,
That we should know a parting worse than death?
Do not go yet.

King. Heaven knows I would not go-
But dire necessity must be obey'd:

heart's design.

'Tis not my wish advises-but my fear,

My fears for thee, the tenderest part of Charles: When thou art safe beyond their barbarous power,

I cannot feel misfortune.

Queen. But I shall,

More than to share e'en death with thee:
My sorrows will be doubled if I go :-
The pangs of separation must be great,
And my conceit of what my Charles may feel
Exceed reality.O let me stay-

I was prepar'd to suffer all things with you,
But not the shock of parting.

Lady Fair. Welcome, tears!

Who that have virtue can behold this scene, And not be actors in it?

King. Now 'tis past.

I would have sooner spoke, but powerful nature First claim'd my tears, ere she would lend me words:

It must not be, my love; thy prayer to stay (The growing proof of thy eternal love) Argues against thee to my tender heart, And forces thee away: this worthy lady Has found the means, and made the generous offer,

Her care prepares your flight: the present hour,
That forces me before their black tribunal,

Will hold all eyes regardless of your steps,
And make security thy guide:farewell!
Till we shall meet again, thy dear idea
Shall in my waking fancy still revive,
And fill up every dream.

Queen. My dearest lord,
Can you so easily pronounce-

-farewell,

When that farewell may be perhaps-for ever?
O can you leave me thus ?-

Methinks our parting should affect the world,
And nature sympathize with grief like ours
O let me stay, at least, till this black day
Be past, that I may know the worst!

To be in doubt is worse than to be certain;
My apprehensions will increase my woe,

Keep in thy tears, my love, lest he suspects
And teach thy heart to say farewell at once.

Enter Colonel TOMLINSON.

Tom. My lord, I have orders to attend your majesty

To Westminster.

King. A moment spent in private, And I am ready.

Do not droop, my queen!

[Exit TOM.

Exert the strongest vigour of thy soul,
Call up thy piety, thy awful virtue,
Thy resolution, and thy sex's pride,

And take their friendly counsel; they will soon
Determine you to think of Charles, as one
Beyond the power of faction in this world,
And ready for another-Fare thee well;
I have this compliment to pay thy worth,
That now I leave thee with more tender thoughts
Than first I met thy love-this tear-adieu!
Now, sir, lead on. [To Col. TOM. entering.
Queen. O stay, my dearest lord!

[Exeunt King and Col. TOM.
Let me assure thee of my faith and love-
Witness, thou awful Ruler of the world,
How much I feel in parting-how my heart
Labours to break to prove its constancy;
How my affection still has call'd thee dear;
Never unkind till in this parting moment.
What do I say? Alas! my Charles is gone-
Fancy presented him before my eyes,

And my tears wrong'd my sight-he's gone for

ever.

Lady Fair. Good madam, think your safety calls upon you;

Your very sorrows are not here secure ;
Though you neglect your own, yet think his ease,
The ease of Charles, depends upon your flight;
I have provided every proper means,
They wait your will.-

Queen. Kind lady, I will go-
But oh, be just to nature, and to pity,
And own 'tis hard-I thank your friendly tears,
They speak my meaning-but I weary you—

Lind. Saw you the king pass by?
Rich. I did, my lord,

As to his coronation, not his trial;
Such was his look-such awful majesty
Beam'd out on every side, and struck the gazer.
No mark of sorrow furrow'd up his face,
Nor stopp'd his smiles to his saluting friends;
Clear as his conscience was his visage seen,
The emblem of his heart. As I approach'd,
Richmond, said he, commend me to my friends;
Say, though my power is gone, my wishes reach
them,

And every prayer that rises, breathes their welfare;

"Tis not in faction to subdue the spirit,

Or break the noble mind.-His speaking eyes
Repeated his commands, and pierc'd my heart:
E'en the base rabble, licens'd to insult,
Struck with the dignity of kingly awe,
Forgot their hire, and rose from praise to wonder.
Lind. Will you not follow, sir? 'twere worth
remark,

How he deports himself.

Rich. O fear not Charles:

Let him encounter with a host of kings,
And he shall stand the shock without a terror:
Will he then shrink beneath a subject-brow,
Though wrinkled with rebellion?--No, good
Lindsey,

The lion cannot lose his kingly nature,
The sun its heat, nor Charles his noble firmness:
Perhaps, indeed, his generous heart may feel,
Not for himself, but for his tyrant judges;
He may lament deprav'd humanity,
And blush to be mistaken in his people.
See, what a mournful visage Fairfax wears,
The sun of pleasantry eclips'd by thought:
Now judgment combats inadvertency,

And makes him curse success--but thus 'tis ever
When courage wildly starts out by itself,
Nor asks consideration's friendly aid;
Confusion joins him; then he wanders through
The thickest doubt, the maze perplexity,
And finds at last repentance.

Think of some means to ward this fatal blow, And save the king. Would you but go, my lord, Your struggle might

Fair. Alas! what can I do? Was ever army routed by one man? I have an army there to combat with. Should I go there in order for prevention, Failing, my presence would be made consent, And I still more unhappy. O the change! This is the change of independent power, For presbytry ne'er meant it. Yet, my lords, You shall not say, that Fairfax only talks; He will approve his honesty by deeds; Somewhat he will attempt to save his honour, And clear it to the view of future times. Rich. We do not doubt your will, nor yet your power. My lord, farewell.

[Exeunt RICH. and LIND. Fair. My power!- -say, what is power? The vain extent of title and of land; The barbarous impulse to th' insulting wretch, To use his fellow-creature like a slave; The woman's idol, and the man's misfortune As it too often robs him of humanity.

In the king's name, and therefore cannot lie
Against the king himself; what earthly power
Can justly call me to account? by what law
Have you erected this pretended court?
The house of commons?—Say, is that alone
A court of judicature? Where are the lords
To lend their aid? the king to sit supreme,
And pass the nation's laws? Are these your means
To bring the king to meet his parliament?

To force him hither like a criminal?
I lately did require, and press'd it warmly,
Stoop'd almost to entreaty, to be heard
Before both houses in the Painted Chamber;
I told you what I had to offer there

Concern'd the kingdom's safety more than mine:
I was refus'd-Is this your boasted justice?
Consider of it yet—and hear your king:
If you do not, remember where it lies,
The weight of this day's guilt; if you refuse-
Do as you please I have no more to say.
Brad. The court has something then to say to
you,

Which, though it may not please you, must be spoke.

You have been charg'd with tyranny and murder, With levying arms against the commonwealth, And joining in rebellion 'gainst the people.

King. Sir, give me leave to speak, ere sentence passes,

Against those imputations.

Brad. By your favour,

My heart, detesting this accursed day, Comes to approve its honesty to Charles: If I have often fought against thy arms, My conscience dictated, and not my hate:

King. Am I not to be heard?

Brad. 'Tis now too late;

You have disown'd us for a court of justice;
We have too long been trifled with already,
And must proceed.-Attend your sentence, sir:
The commons, in behalf of the whole people,
Have constituted this high court of justice,
To try Charles Stuart, lately king of England.
He has thrice heard his charge, and thrice denied
The power and jurisdiction of the court;
For which contempt, and proof of his high crimes,
It does pronounce him tyrant, traitor, murderer,
Adjudging him to death, by severing
His head and body- This is the joint act,
The sentence, judgment, and the resolution
Of the whole court,

Your favour, sir, I may, sir, after sentence.
Brad. Adjourn the court.

[The King is brought forward; the scene
closes.

King. Denied to speak!-Why have I lived to this?

When I had power, the meanest of my subjects Not heard by me, would straight arraign my justice,

And brand me with the hated name of tyrant.
Will future ages, looking back to this,
Credit the record? They will rather deem it
The black invective of a partial pen,
And curse his memory that libell'd England.
Sir, I am ready to attend your will,

Do your worst office; if 'tis your commission, Then lead me down this instant to the block; "Twill be a joyful hearing; for, believe me,

And judge the former as you please.
King. Good Fairfax,

The present times are liable to error,
I am a fatal instance; then forgive me,
I had forgot how lately I had cause
To think you now no enemy to Charles;
But sorrow forc'd down her lethargic draught,
Which had clos'd up the eye of memory.

Fair, Ill-fated prince! how does thy firmness shine,

And make affliction glorious! Oh, 'tis thus
The truly great exert their resolution,
And make calamity a virtue. Cromwell now
Loses the barbarous joy of his design,
To see misfortune's arrow fail to pierce thee.
King. Believe me, Fairfax, 'tis not innate firm-

ness,

The dame morality, the Stoic patience,
That furnish true serenity of mind:

I had try'd all these helps, but prov'd them weak,
And found the best philosophy in virtue.
Can the fond teacher's lesson, conn'd by rote,
Change the dark lodging of the murderer's breast.
To the sun-lighted rooms of innocence? Oh, no!
As to the agents of my present fate,

I look upon them with the eye of thanks;
Who from this life of sorrow wing my parting,
And send me sooner to an happier throne.

Fair. Such resignation wears the noble mind, And triumphs over death: but, gentle Charles! Think not of death so soon; live long and happy. Fairfax will try his utmost stretch of power, But you shall live, though this black day has happen'd;

Persuasion, prayer, and force, shall all be us❜d, To make my promise good.

King. Good Fairfax, hear me; Nor indiscreetly throw thyself away,

To save the man whose wishes are to die.

I had remov'd my thoughts from earth, and now 'Twill be such pain to call them back again→→

Life is not worth the trouble: yet I thank thee. Fair. This was but half my purpose: hear me

on

If, in the hurry of intemperate zeal,
I have outgone the justice of my cause,
And, erring in my judgment, fought in wrong,
Let this entreaty win thee to a pardon.

King. If to have my forgiveness makes thee
clear,

Thou art as white as virtue.

Fair. Glorious Charles!

But I will hasten to preserve his life,

And make my gratitude my thanks; farewell. It is the common interest of mankind

To let him live, to shine out an example.
King. Who dresses in good fortune's gorgeous
ermine,

Looks not so comely to a virtuous eye,
As he who clothes him in repentant black.
I tire your patience. Come, sir, lead the way.
Lighter than fancy does my bosom feel,
My thoughts are mercy, and my quiet conscience
Tranquillity's still calm: no anxious fear
Beats in my pulse, or ruffles me with care:
If the bare hope of immortality

Knows peace like this, what must the full enjoy-
ments be!
[Exeunt.

SCENE I.

Enter FAIRFAX.

Fair. Why did I conquer

conquest!

Who, though I fought for liberty alone,
Will yet acquit me of the guilt that follows?
Will future ages, when they read my page,
(Though Charles himself absolves me of the deed)
Spare me the name of regicide? Oh, no!
I shall be blacken'd with my party's crimes,
And damn'd with my full share, though innocent.
In vain then 'gainst oppression have I warr'd,
In vain for liberty uprear'd the sword;
Posterity's black curse shall brand my name,
And make me live in infamy for ever.
Now, valour, break thy sword! thy standard,
victory!

Furl up thy ensigns, bold hostility,
And sink into inaction; since, alas!

One tainted heart, or one ambitious brain,
Can turn the current of the noblest purpose,
And spoil the trophies of an age's war.
But see where, to my wish, stern Cromwell comes;
Now urge him strongly for the life of Charles,
And, if entreaty fails, avow thy purpose.

Fair. This is a sophistry too weak for reason: You would excuse the guilt of Charles's death, By shewing me the opposite extreme; But can you find no mean, no middle course, Steering between the danger of the last, And horror of the first? I know you can.

Crom. It is not to be done: would Fairfax now, When he has labour'd up the steep ascent, And wasted time and spirits; would he now, When but one step exalts him to the summit, Where to his eye the fair horizon stretches, And every prospect greatness can command; Would he now stop, let go his fearful hold, And tumble from the height?

Fair. I aim at none; Damn'd be all greatness that depraves the heart, Or calls one blush from honesty !-No moreI shall grow warm to be thus trifled with: Think better, Cromwell—I have given my pro

mise

That Charles shall live.

Crom. A promise may be broke; Nay, start not at it—'Tis an hourly practice; The trader breaks it-yet is counted honest; The courtier keeps it not-yet keeps his honour; Husband and wife in marriage promise much, Yet follow separate pleasures, and are virtuous. The churchmen promise too, but, wisely, they To a long payment stretch the crafty bill, And draw upon futurity. A promise! 'Tis the wise man's freedom, and the fool's restraint;

It is the ship in which the knave embarks, Who rigs it with the tackle of his conscience,

speaks?

It is impossible; he does but try

How well fair speech becomes a vicious cause,
But, I hope, scorns it in the richest dress.
Yet hear me on-it is our interest speaks,
And bids us spare his life: while that continues,
No other title can annoy our cause,

And him we have secure; but grant him dead,
Another claim starts up, another king,
Out of our reachThis bloody deed perhaps
May rouse the princes of the continent
(Who think their persons struck at in this blow)
To shake the very safety of our cause.
Crom. When you consult our int'rest,
with freedom;

speak

It is the turn and point of all design.
But take this answer, Fairfax, in return;
Britain, the queen of isles, our fair possession,
Secur'd by nature laughs at foreign force;
Her ships her bulwark, and the sea her dyke,
Sees plenty in her lap, and braves the world.
Be therefore satisfied; for Charles must die.
Fair. Wilt thou be heard, though at thy ut-
most need,

Who now art deaf to mercy and to prayer?
Oh, curs'd ambition, thou devouring bird,
How dost thou from the field of honesty
Peck every grain of profit and delight,
And mock the reaper, virtue! Bloody man!
Know that I still have power, have still the means
To make that certain which I stoop to ask;
And fix myself against thy black design,
And tell thee, dauntless, that he shall not die.
Crom. Will Fairfax turn a rebel to the cause,
And shame his glories?

Fair. I abjure the name ;

I know no rebel on the side of virtue.
This I am sure of, he that acts unjustly,
Is the worst rebel to himself; and though now
Ambition's trumpet and the drum of power
May drown the sound, yet conscience will, one
day,

Speak loudly to him, and repeat that name. Crom. You talk as 'twere a murder, not a justice.

Have we not brought him to an open trial? Does not the general cry pronounce his death? Come, Fairfax dares not

Fair. By yon heaven, I will

I know thee resolute: but so is Fairfax.
You see my purpose, and shall find I dare.

[Going. Crom. Fairfax, yet stay. I would extend my power

To its full stretch, to satisfy your wish;
Yet would not have you think that I should grant
That to your threats, which I deny'd your prayer---
Judge not so meanly of yourself and me.

Be calm and hear me- -What is human nature,
When the intemperate heat of passion blinds
The eye of reason, and commits her guidance

To headlong rashness? He directs her steps
And disappointments wild; yet such we are,
So frail our being, that our judgment reaches
Scarce farther than our sight- -let us retire,
And, in this great affair, entreat his aid,
Who only can direct to certainty.
There is I know not what of good presage,
That dawns within, and lights to happy issue.
Fair. If heaven and you consider it alike,
It must be happy.

Crom. An hour or two of pray'r
Will pull down favour upon Charles and us.

Fair. I am contented; but am still resolv'd That Charles shall live-I shall expect your

Ire. I but this instant met the general, Fairfax,

Who told me his entreaty had prevail'd

To save the life of Charles. 'Tis more than wonder.

Crom. Ireton, thy presence never was more timely.

I would disclose; but now each moment's loss
Is more than the neglect of future years.
Hie thee in person to St James's, Ireton,
And warn the officer, whose charge leads forth
The king to execution, to be sudden :
Let him be more than punctual to the time;
If his respect to us forerun his warrant,
It shall win greatness for him; so inform him-
That done, repair o' th' instant to the army,
And see a chosen party march directly,
(Such as can well be trusted) post them, Ireton,
Around the scaffoldMy best kinsman, fly.
[Exit IRETON.

Why, now, I think I have secur'd my point;
I set out in the current of the tide,
And not one wind that blows around the compass
But drives me to success. Ambition, now,
Soars to its darling height, and, eagle-like,
Looks at the sun of power, enjoys its blaze,
And grows familiar with the brightness; now I

see

Dominion nigh; superiority

Beckons and points me to the chair of state; There grandeur robes me. Now let Cromwell boast

That he has reft the crown from Charles's brow, To make it blaze more awful on his own. [Exit.