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[Lambert makes an indignant gesture. Overton checks him.
Nay, let me speak.—Nought say I of your plans,
Concealed behind an ill-adjusted mask.
I will not say that my eye sees within
Your inmost soul, and that I am aware
Of your shrewd plot—which seems as yet unborn—
Rumbling within the greater common plot:
You purpose, by our hands, to float yourself.
You think—such is the reckoning of your pride—
That we will deign a giant to replace
By an egregious dwarf. You fain would be
The heir of Cromwell. And you falter not
Before the burden that he bears, my friend,
Although 't is something heavy for your shoulders.
I see the hand that grasps and not the arm
That bears the load. Could aught more artless be
Than this fine scheme, wherein you draw the lots
To your own satisfaction? You believe
The people will in all things second you;
As if 'twere ever seen in history
That, when a tyrant's yoke bore heavily
On a free people, 'twas less odious
Because the tyrant was a little man?
Lambert [in a rage.
This insult, Colonel Overton—
Overton. This insult, Colonel Overton—Fear not,
I'll answer to you for it when you will.
But for the moment, an it please you, hear
Through this my voice the stern and homely truth.
You 're not yet king that you should flattered be.
Now, laying aside your dreams of empire,
The spirit moveth me to tell you this.—
You have to strike a blow at which you quail;
Among the witnesses assembled here,