We've no relays, we needs must rest awhile.
Richard [aside.]I know these voices.
Yonder Cromwell lies!
Dread chastisement of his unheard-of crime!
He 's in our hands, this giant of renown,
In whom, more than in God, the world hath seemed
To rest its faith!—Yes, it is he himself.
What station does he hold here at our feet?
No man hath power enough or craft enough
To steal away this sinner from his judge.
All fled before him; now he hath no place
Of refuge.—Ah! ill-fated warrior!
Wherein hath it advantaged thee to hold
A nation in thy chains these fifteen years?
To fight so fiercely, pierce so many shields,
Replace the ancient Stuart name with thine,
To reign by hatred, horror and affright,
And make of Whitehall a king's calvary?
How great a burden at this fateful hour
Are all these crimes, sealed with the royal crown!
Cromwell, how wilt thou render thy account?
When thou wert powerful thee I abhorred,
Vanquished I pity thee. Alas! that I
Might not in battle make thee bite the dust!
But what a fall! to take thee prisoner
Without a victory! a bloodless triumph!
We must resign ourselves. The sword gives place
To daggers. What a mighty head Fate casts
Into the scales upon the Stuart side!
Richard [aside.]What mean these words? I'll listen and speak not.
Cromwell [aside.]This Ormond I esteem. Nobly he speaks.
