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tires with low reverences.—General Lambert, pale and perturbed, steps forward, bearing the crown on a rich cushion of crimson velvet.—Overton forces his way through the crowd and takes his place near him.

Lambert [kneeling on the steps of the platform.
My Lord, the Book. My lord—
Overton [to Lambert, in an undertone.
My Lord, the Book. My lord—'Tis I! Be brave!
Lambert [aside.]He's at my side!
[To Cromwell, in a faltering tone.
He's at my side! Receive the crown—
Overton [in an undertone, to Lambert, drawing his dagger.
He's at my side! Receive the crown—And death!

[All the conspirators scattered through the crowd place their hands, simultaneously, on their daggers.

Cromwell [as if suddenly awakened from a dream.
How now! What means this? Why this crown—to me?
What would you that I do with it? And who
Doth give it me, I pray? Is it a dream?
Is it, in truth, the diadem I see?
And by what right do ye with kings confound me?
Who dares into our pious festivals
Such scandal to import?—Their crown, to me,
Who caused their heads to fall!—Have you mistook
The purpose of this ceremonial?—
My lords, and Englishmen, and brothers all,
Who hear my voice, I come not to this place
To assume the crown, but to renew my rights,
Confirm my title and my power replenish,
Here in my people's very heart of hearts,
Twice was the consecrated scarlet dyed.
This purple cloak's the people's, and from them