_Crom._ [_To the Soldiers as they enter, R._] Go hence, you rascals.

[_Soldiers entering with whooping and shouts._]

Sound bugles! fall in! quick march!

[_The Soldiers march round and fall in a line in perfect order, WILLIAM bringing up the rear, shouldering a bone._]

_Ire._ [_To Arthur Walton._] See you now the bent of this? How he doth make them his own? I tell you that the day will come, this host shall follow him alone, ay! and perchance England--

_Crom._ [_To Desborough, who has remained apart, indignant._] Come, Desborough! if thou hast digested thine indignation--[_Taking Desborough's arm, kindly._]

_Ire._ As he will never his dinner.

_Crom._ Thou wilt unto my tent, where is store of wholesome food.

_Enter HARRISON, L., hurriedly._

_Har._ I fear they will not sally forth; our host Meanwhile will melt away. Despondency Sits heavy on my soul.

[_Firing is heard from the town._]

_Ire._ If they abide In York, we'd best draw off. [_Exit ARTHUR, L._]

_Crom._ But Rupert! Rupert!

Wilt he not fight--The fiery-headed fool Will rush out on us from yon fenced town, And then--Whom have we here?

[_An Orderly hastens in._]

_Ord._ The earl doth bid you Prepare for instant action; Rupert and Newcastle Are forth outside the gates.

_Crom._ Said I not so?-- Their hearts are hardened by the Lord of hosts.

[_Musketry in the distance._] [_To an officer entering._]

Did you not hear me when I said "Bring up the fascines?" How shall we cross the ditch? Do you not heed? Quick, man!

_Offi._ Even as Balaam said to Balak, Lo! I will but speak what the Lord hath put in my mouth. [_Turning to the Soldiers._] Wherefore, I say, O brethren, be ye as they the Lord set apart to Gideon--

_Crom._ [_Striking him with his pistol b.u.t.t._] Take that, thou babbling fool! this is no fitting time to preach. Ho! Jepherson. Bring up the facines.

_Enter ARTHUR, L., to CROMWELL._

_Arth._ Fairfax is beaten, and our right wing scattered.

_Crom._ Hist! dismay not these. Doth Rupert follow them?

_Arth._ He doth fight fiercely.

_Crow._ Then will I meet him. Victor to victor, we will close together. Ho! forward!

[_Another Officer enters._]

_Offi._ The musketry of Belial hath mowed our ranks, and the sons of Zeruiah--

_Crom._ Tush, tell me not of Zeruiah, or, by the Eternal, I will smite thee! Speak in English.

_Offi._ The Scotch are in disorder. Lucas, and Porter, and the malignant Goring are playing havoc with them. Newcastle, with his white coats, is winning on us at the pike's point.

_Crom._ That's what is done. What is to do? What says the General?

_Offi._ That you charge Rupert.

_Crom._ Why did you not speak sooner?

I am dead To hear you drawl thus. Righteous Lambert, on!

Bring up the regiments.

Tell brave Frizell, He shall see sport anon--

[_A Soldier gives him his morion._]

I will not wear it!

I cannot see around--

[_A heavy discharge of cannon heard without._]

Ho! Desborough,

Here is a dinner for thee. See thou carve it Right well. On! on! a Cromwell for a Rupert!

_Soldiers._ The Lord and Cromwell!

_Crom._ Nay, not thus: shout rather "G.o.d and his people! England! Liberty!"

[_Exeunt L._]

[_Different parties of wounded Soldiers enter U.E.L; some being a.s.sisted, and others staggering; the scene becomes dark and obscured with clouds of smoke.

Several Soldiers fall down._]

[_Enter WILLIAM, R., meeting a wounded Trooper, L._]

_Troop._ How goes the day? Why art thou not with the saints, that are now fighting?

_Will._ I was about to fight; but they waited not for me. It is all over now. The king hath no more chance than a b.u.t.terfly three days at sea amongst a covey of Mother Carey's chickens. I would pursue, but lack spurs and a horse, or you should not find me here; [_Aside._] or within ten miles of it.

_Troop._ Get me some water, friend!

_Will._ Ah! you would have watered me in a pond two days since; but here--this is better than water.

[_The Soldier takes a flask from him._]

_Troop._ I think thou saidst that the malignants were smitten. Praised be the Lord! Yet I would I had not seen my father's white hairs amid yon accursed red coats. I parried a stroke from him that must have jarred the old man's arm.