3rd Cav. Hold, gentlemen!  ’Tis a mere wanton!  I believe these wenches are dowered by old Noll to set our young hot-bloods by the ears.  Hold!  ’Tis not worth!

[They continue tonight.  The 2nd Cavalier is wounded.]

A Cavalier, richly dressed, who has entered, L., in the meanwhile, and made inquiring gestures.

Cav. For whose sake? 
O shame! shame! 
The King—­
The Queen needs all your blood, and ye must shed it
In shameless broils like these! 
Thus the dear blood that should, if spilt it be,
Dye our white spotless cause with its rich crimson,
Must now for every muslin thing that spites
Her prentice-lover, making fools of you. 
And O ye others, loyal gentlemen! 
I weep indeed for England and our King,
To see ye all, in this the perilous gasp
Of hardy enterprize, yourselves forget,
Like Circe’s brutish swine.  I tell ye now,
While ye are lost in drunken quarrelling,
Cromwell is near.

3rd or 4th Cav. The King shall have his own.  Lillibullero!

Cav. I say, thee General Cromwell Is on the road with some four hundred men, And will surprise us. [Confused movement to arm.]

1st Cav. [Who has continued to drink.] Ha!  What does it concern thee with thy preaching?  Dost thou want ought here? [Touching his sword-hilt.] I care not for thee or Noll.  Would he were here, and a matter of four thousand to back him. [Draws.] Sa! sa! canst fight as well as talk?  Wilt take up the bilbo?  Come, adopt the weapon of him I have sliced.  Come, be nimble, sir, jig.  I would fain go visit the haulage of my fancy.

[A confused noise without.]

Cav. Too late!  O gentlemen! here, Willsden, is thy sword.  Varley, arouse thee!  The enemy!  Away, women!  Come, gentlemen—­this table—­a barricade, so—­ [1st Cavalier stands in his way.] Off, fool! [Hurls him aside.]

A tremendous explosion; the wide doors behind are burst in by a petard; the barn falls, and discovers a view of York.  Enter CROMWELL with IRONSIDES through the break.

Crom. Yield, sons of Belial!

Cav. O Charles, my king!  ’Tis time to die, ere see thy cause thus lost!

[Throws himself on the pikemen.]

Here, cavaliers! a blow, one blow, ’tis Noll
The butcher, brewer Noll, that in your songs
Ye send to hell so often.  Send him now,
If ye be men, not cowards.  What! at loss!

[1st Cavalier staggers against him as he parries two or three pikemen, and he receives a mortal stroke, and falls.  During this the other cavaliers are struck down or disarmed.]

Alas!  I might have reach’d him, but betray’d
By our own rotten conduct, die—­Oh, had I words
Now could I prophesy—­destruction—­Charles! 
My king! [Dies.]