t detain you a short while in prayer.

_Des._ Nay! as I said before, we are fatigued, and
the body needs refreshment.

_Ire._ [Apart to Cromwell.] How the pampered boar frets!

_Crom._ [_To Desborough._] Will you to my tent?--I
can give you a soldier's fare, with a soldier's welcome,
a crust and cup of ale, and we can discourse what
remains.

_An Officer._ Indeed we are engaged; but if the
General Cromwell would honour us--

_Crom._ I thank you, I have supped ere you have dined.

[_Drum rolls. A loud shout of merriment and clatter is heard._]

_Des._ What is that--in my tent too!

[_Looking off, R. WILLIAM comes forward, R._]

By Heaven! rank mutiny. I'll have them shot.

_Will._ Nay! worthy sir, knock out the priming of
your wrath from the matchlock of your vengeance,
and abide till to-morrow, when you shall see many
a stout fellow and gormandizer to boot levelled. [_To
Cromwell._] Great Sir! they complain that the wine
is thin.

_Crom._ Go purchase some strong waters. [_Gives
him money._] I must not have my fellows' stomachs
unsettled. Here, thou graceless knave.

_Will._ An't please you, we had no time for grace;
but we return thanks to you, under Heaven.

_Des._ This then is your work, General Cromwell!
Call you this discipline?

_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 ha