He sees nothing, but a second glance arrests all his movement. After a
moment he turns to look fixedly at the King. There is a silence; then:)
_Cromwell:_
What in the name of God is this?
(Striking the paper with his hand.)
_Charles:_
It is private to ourselves.
_Cromwell_
(rising):
To ourselves? For our private pleasure we will destroy this country, and
blast the people in it! Read it, Ireton.
(IRETON takes the paper and rises.)
_Charles_
(rising):
These are notes for our own contemplation.
_Cromwell:_
Here are ten lines of the bitterest damnation that ever came from the
mind of treason.
(Taking the paper again.)
The Scots to invade England. The King's arms to be raised again.
Presbytery to... Freedom to be destroyed--and diligently, at the King's
pleasure. Word blaspheming word as we have spoken. Disastrous man!
_Ireton:_
How far has this gone?
_Charles:_
We are not before our judges.
_Cromwell:_
It will come. This iniquity means we know not what new bitterness of
destruction. But know this, Charles Stuart, that, when we draw the sword
again, it is the sword of judgment. Out there many call you the man of
blood. I have laboured for you, have met them all in persuasion.
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