The others, scattered here and there amongst
The chapels of the old Plantagenets,
Stuarts, and Tudors, guarding staircases
And blocking corridors,—and whether fortune wills
That Oliver do win or lose the day,
Ready to close the way to him at need,
Or open it to us,—will by their words
Foster the flame that smoulders sullenly
Amid the mournful, gloomy multituide,
And, sharpening the chosen people's wrath,
Of the volcano hasten the eruption.
All [except Barebones, waving their daggers.
May Dathan and Abiron be consumed therein!
O God, who dost create the tiny worm,
And the leviathan, we pray to thee,
In thy all-seeing goodness, to promote
Our holy enterprise. To manifest
Thy power, whereof men speak despitefully,
Grant that this dagger may come reeking forth
From Cromwell's breast. Guide thou our blows, O Lord!
O merciful, and just, and clement Lord!
That so thy foes to slaughter may be doomed.
Since we do witness thus our faith in Thee,
O may thy flaming sword and tongues of fire
Gleam in our hands and on our brows, O God!
Barebones [aside.] The abomination doth possess their minds.—
Divide my goods!
Lambert. My friends, the hour has passed.
Let us go hence.
