But—He is my eldest-born!
God gave him to me on a day of joy.
'Tis my own blood this blade will cause to flow!
In childhood, what a multitude of ills,
Of care and pain, ay, and of happiness,
He caused me!—For did I but appear
Before his eyes, joyous and radiant
He 'd stretch his little arms to their full length
To grasp my hands, while his whole body quivered
As he had wings. Methought a star had gleamed
Before my eyes, when he did smile on me!
Richard.So much the worse for him, for he 's a tyrant!
Cromwell [aside.
Ha! that word turns the scale; for when a son
Turns parricide, he is no more a son.
[He creeps up behind Richard with his dagger uplifted.
Die, traitor!
But in yon dark passages
What sounds are these! 'Tis Ormond and his friends
Returning. I will follow up the thread
Of my son's treachery; and afterward
We will lay bare the whole dark tragedy.
