od work.

[_Enter WILLIAM, R._]

_Will._ My master bloody?--
A dead man on the ground!--a knight of the road
by his looks-- [_Sees CROMWELL._]
What a grim stranger!

_Crom._ Sirrah! move
That carrion. [_WILLIAM going up to his Master._]

_Will._ Sir! I wait on this gentleman.
What a look! [_Aside._] I am sure he is either the
devil, or some great Christian. [_Aloud._] I will, my
Lord! [_Moves the body._] Come along! To think
now this dead, two-legged thing should have been
active enough just now to catch a four-footed live
deer. No sooner does a man die, but you would
think he had swallowed the lead of his coffin. Come
along! Lord! how helpless it is! Why, he shall no
more kick at his petty devouring, no, no more than if
he were a dead king! [_Exit with body, U.E.L._]

_Crom._ Ha! 'Tis well said.
Would that this blood had not been shed.
'Tis dreadful
To send a soul destroy'd to plead against
The frail destroyer. Yet I could not help it.
[_TO ARTHUR._]
How farest thou now?

_Arth._ Good sir, I thank you for
My life so promptly sav'd--not courtesy,
But breath did fall me.

_Crom._ 'Tis a fearful thing
That I have done. A life! I might have struck
Less fiercely. God forgive me for the deed.
[_To Arthur._] Would he have slain thee?

_Arth._ 'Twas a murderer
Most double-dyed in blood. I heard them speak
His guilt.--

_Crom._ O, I could weep! and yet his death
Had the best reason for't.
Whence comest thou, sir?

_Arth._ I am but late returned unto this land.

[_Re-enter WILLIAM._]

_Will._ Yes! yes, from Italy, Rome, gracious sir!
Us'd to these things, you see--

_Crom._ Peace, knave, thou scoffest!
Revilest thou; because a fellow-sinner's dead?
Shame be upon thee!

_Will._ [_Aside._] If I should be impertinent to him,
'twill be behind his back. He hath a quelling eye;
although a man fear not. Now, amidst other brave men
with swords, he would be as one that carried sword,
and petronel to boot.

_Crom._ [_To Arthur._] I fain would hear from thee, young sir,
More of the land from whence thou comest. 'Tis
My hap, I thank God's holy will, to stay
In this my country, lifting now her head
From the curst yoke of proud Idolatry,
Lately so vexing her, I thought to leave,
A little while ago, her shores for ever,
Unto the new Jerusalem, beyond
The western ocean, where there are no kings,
False worship, or oppression--but, no more.
What say'st thou of this Italy?