400
CROMWELL
[At the entrance of the Cavaliers the crowd draws aside with a murmur of amazement and curiosity.
The Sergeants-at-Arms.
Make way! make way!
[The Cavaliers halt in front of Cromwell's throne, Ormond and Rochester in the first rank. Their attitude is calm and unflinching; Murray and Manasseh alone seem paralyzed with fear.—Cromwell gazes for some time with an expression of satisfaction, at the prisoners and the assemblage, and seems to enjoy the curiosity and anxiety which encompass him.—Throughout the scene Rochester makes eyes at Frances, whom he has espied in the gallery immediately on entering.
Cromwell [folding his arms, to the Cavaliers.
What is your pleasure, sirs?
[Aside.]Suppose that they should sue to me for mercy!
Lord Ormond [in a firm voice.
We are brave men and we make no appeal
For pity, mercy, favour or forgiveness.
Who dies like us exults in such a death;
It neither vexes him nor him degrades.
In sooth, what had we to expect from you,
A murderer, a low-born vassal, who,
O'erloading his plebeian coat of arms
With the hereditary crest and sceptre,
Quarters the arms of England thereupon.
Cromwell.
What would you with me, then?
Ormond. A single word.
By which road purpose you to send us hence
