DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

CROMWELL.

Milton, his Secretary.

Arthur Walton.

Basil, his Half-Brother.

Sir Simon Nevel, their Uncle.

Ireton, Son-in-law of Cromwell.

Harrison, )
Desborough, )
Bradshaw, )
Marten, ) Parliamentarians.
Lilburne, )
Hacker, )
Ludlow, )
sir Harry Vane, )

William, Servant to Arthur.

Hezekiah Newborn, Host.

Pearson, Attendant on Cromwell.

Wyckoff, Accomplice of Basil.

Bowtell, an Ironside.

Cavaliers, Roundheads, Officers, Gentlemen, Soldiers,
Guests of the Inn, Poachers, Citizens, a Preacher,
Old Man, Trooper, Servants, Messengers, &c., &c.

The lady Cromwell.

Elizabeth, her Daughter.

Florence Nevel, Daughter of Sir Simon.

Lady Fairfax.

Barbara, Maid of Florence.

Attendants, Women, &c.

SCENE I.

[2nd Grooves.]

GURTON’S Ale House.

Host and Guests.

Host. So they say the king is to die. Well, his head hath swung at my door many a year, and I cannot say but that there was custom. Good day to you, Master Gilead Stubbs, you have a good mile to walk. Shall the boy go with you?

Mast. Stubbs. Nay! nay! I thank you, I will with Master Jesson here. You have lost the Captain. Where is he?

Host. What, that Wyckoff? Gone, and his score left unpaid. Moreover, I think ’twas he that hid my keys.

A Guest. Ah! how was it?

Host. I have never lost them before. It was in my secret place, and yon Wyckoff had to do with it. He was drunk the morning I missed them without being served. I am glad he is gone.

Guests. Good day, Master Newborn, good day.

Host. The Lord be with ye; [Exeunt Guests.] and make sound vessels of ye! [Aside.] for the holding of good liquor. This is the best company I have had for long. How restless I feel. I cannot help thinking of my dream, that Wyckoff and the other would have slain me, and ’twas in this very room. Let me see, I dreamt too they hid something this plank seems loose. I could fancy now this were the fag-end of my dream [Lifts the Plank.] What is here? As I live, my keys, and a bundle of papers. [Reads.] “To Master Arthur Walton?” Why, he hath not been here, for long. If now it ’twere Basil his brother and the Captain had left them here from Sir Marmaduke Langdale too. Here is something wrong. I feel choked. Let me put them back. Why now, I could swear I had seen them placed there. It is very odd. And to think of my keys too. I could fancy they were only skeletons. Yet I know their jingle well. I’ll to my brewer now, and, as there is no one here, I say [looks round] God keep the poor king’s head on his shoulders, and may it be long ere he die on his bier! [Exit, R.]

SCENE II.

[1st Cut.] [3rd Grooves.]

An Apartment in Hampton Court. The LADY ELIZABETH reading. In an inner chamber are ARTHUR and FLORENCE. Practicable door 2nd E.R.

[ARTHUR is heard singing to a lute in the adjoining chamber.]

SONG

When thy lover, dear, is nigh thee,
Look not on the world around,
In his eyes be thy blue vision,
In his eyes thy vision bound
For thou’lt find all Heaven, I swear,
By thy gaze reflected there!

In thy ripe lips is his summer,
Autumn in thy braided hair;
Jealous is he of spring’s snow-drops
Stolen from thy neck’s warm care;
But the winter of his mind
Is when thou, love, art unkind:
In thee rounded, thus, his year,
Joy, doubt, sweet content, and fear.

Eliz. [Throwing down the book.] The black print seems all red I cannot read!

[Points to the inner room.]

Mine eyes burn so And they are happy there
Together ’twas my work and now I wish
That seas convuls’d by tempests were between them;
And an eternal veil of blackness girded
The one from the other each in separate light,
But still apart! apart! O horror, why
Doth their communion cast such hopeless gloom
Upon me, more than all a father’s guilt,
A sovereign’s woe? O daughter of a traitor!
Traitoress! Thou lovest him thy friend doth love,
And he loves her! ay, that is it, he loves her.

[Laughs hysterically.]

I am a wedded wife. There is no stain
Of guilty wish. I ne’er thought to be his:
No! no! False wretch, thou dost this moment. Hold,
’Tis past!
Oh! would that I were far remov’d,
Not seeing, hearing, knowing all their lore,
Not feeling their young blest affection jar
Through every fibre thus!
This is the day
The king’s fate is decided If he die
Arthur will hate us, hate my father, me,
The regicide’s pale daughter thus to think
Of the king’s life! that was my only prayer
Before; and now it fades on my cold lips,
And startles me to hear it! [MUSIC is heard within.]
O my heart!
It seems as though a thousand daggers’ points
Would not suffice to stab it, so it might
Feel some release [Falls on her knees.]
My God! forsake me not!

As the music ends, enter the LADY CROMWELL; she approaches her daughter, and, bending over her, lifts her up.

Lady Crom. What is it, child? I have now heard from Fairfax:
He saith it will not be Thy father is
But stern unto the last
He’ll pray to God
And God will aid him

Eliz. But His judgments, mother!
Are awful. Did not Christ condemn the mind
That is polluted with a guilty thought,
As if ’twere done?

Lady Crom. This weary thought of hers
About the king hath turn’d her brain.
Dear daughter,
Rouse thee, he will not die!

Enter a Messenger, others of the family, the LADY FAIRFAX in deep mourning.

Lady Fairf. The king is sentenced. Death! [Bell tolls.]

ELIZABETH, raising herself, falls back into her Mother’s arms with a sudden scream. They carry her back.

Enter ARTHUR and FLORENCE.

Arth. Then, madam, let us part ’tis better.

Flor. Yes, I think so, sir.

Arth. I cannot brook this treatment

Flor. I do not wish you

Arth. Heartless!

Flor. Certainly,
A heart is troublesome; it oft makes fools
Of those that own it
I should hate a man
Made me ridiculous.

Arth. Farewell!

Flor. Farewell!

[FLORENCE runs to the LADY ELIZABETH.]

Arth. [Joining the group.] What is the matter?

One of the Domestics. Sir, the king is sentenc’d To death; it is too much for her

Arth. Alas! Is it even so?

Flor. [To Arthur.] Arthur! here, lend your aid To bear her hence Elizabeth! ’Tis Florence

[He attempts to raise her.]

Eliz. I tell you I can stand
His arm? [Aside.]
Away! [Aloud.]
Sir, do not touch me, you ill-treat my friend!

Flor. To think she heard, my folly
Sir, I fancy [To Arthur.]
She will be better, if you are not here

[He bows and is about to retire.]

Enter CROMWELL and PEARSON followed by two or three officers.

Crom. Where be ye all?
[To an Officer.] These to your Colonel Pride
[Exit officer, L.]
And thou to Rich; tell him to watch and fast,
[To another.]
For I have need of him [Exit officer, L.]
What coil is this? [To his Family.]
My daughter ill! send a physician, quick:
Pearson, look to it
I am ill myself.
’Twas a sore trial, ye have heard of it
The man must die

Eliz. No! father, as you hope For mercy, no!

Crom. Peace, simpleton. It was The voice of all this people.

Arth. General, hear me: Thou hadst the power to save

Crom. Ay! Master Walton, Thou thinkest so?

Arth. I do!

Crom. And dar’st to speak it?

Arth. Dare! General Cromwell! [Takes off his sword.]
Here, look, is my sword,
I’ll never more bear arms with thee or thine.

Crom. I do protest thou wilt not
Take his sword; [To an Officer.]
I did not think to find this kite so tame.
Good, honest Master Walton, tell me now
What news from Langley, virtuous Master Walton?
Nay, never look with that blank wonderment,
Friend Arthur Walton
[ARTH. attempts to speak.] Tush, sir, not a word
As the Lord liveth, thou shalt die the death
Take him away. I hate his open brow
More than a dozen dark-fac’d royalists
In arms against us.

Arth. What doth this mean?
Frenzy
Hath surely seized him

Crom. No! the sense To know thee, hypocrite!

Flor. O Arthur! Arthur!
What has he done? [Rushes to his arms.]
Forgive me, dearest Arthur!
Sir, he’s not guilty [To Cromwell.]

Crom. Silence, woman! Take him Away!

Eliz. My veins thrill! Parted? No! No! No!
Perish the mean thought
Let me aid them, though
I die; then o’er my quiet grave, my thought
Doth sculpture them in prayer
[To Cromwell.] He is innocent,
My father! Let him go Do you not see
They love each other?

Crom. Art thou not ashamed? Thou wanton girl!

Arth. My Florence! I am happy Since thou dost love me. I know nought of that With which he charges me

Flor. I know thou dost not:
Thou shalt not die!
O man of blood, beware! [To Cromwell.]
If thou’rt deceived, repentance comes too late.
Is that a traitor’s look! Thou canst not quell it
Back’d by an army.
Thou hast bitter moments
E’en now. The king

Crom. I’ll hear no more remove him. [A pause.]
Yet I will give three days, if in that time
Ye prove him innocent, ’tis well If not,
He dies the death!

[ARTHUR is seized; ELIZABETH clings to her Father, who looks on her with an expression of anger, which gradually softens into affection. Exeunt, on the one side, ARTHUR, L. with his Guards, on the other, CROMWELL, with his Family, &c., R.]

Enter WILLIAM and HOST, U.E.R.

Will. Come on, I tell thee they are all gone. Have I not liberty here?

Host. Hem! Did’st thou notice how that young imp of a page flouted thee, when thou did’st civilly inquire the hour of the day? Thou wert welcome as a wet Sunday to his new feather. I doubt whether I myself will continue to know thee.

Will. Is there no way to save him? If now it were the marriage of his heart something might occur; but I never yet heard of an accident on the road to a gallows.

Host. Cheer up! cheer up! we must all die, young and old. I have had my trials. In these wars I have known very estimable men die that owed me money. There is your true trial now.

Will. If he had been slain on the right side, and died comely with a love-lock as a gentleman should. But to perish by the false canting rebel that he served. He a traitor! My master! The innocentest youth alive. Why even I, that have some claim, could not find it in my heart to cheat him. It would have been an insult to my understanding to impose upon him that had no suspicions, and would leave out his doublet in the morning to be cleaned unemptied, when he had won uncounted pieces of gold at night Alas! Alas!

Host. Come along, thou mayest as well drink; for weeping will not mend thee. Besides, I have something to tell thee about him and his brother Basil, and one Wyckoff, that hath left his score unpaid; but I cannot remember it just now.

[He takes him by the arm and leads him out, L.]

Enter BASIL, WALTON, and FLORENCE, R.

Basil. He is my half-brother, it is true; but shall he betray the true cause for that? Shall our consanguinity make me so weak?

Flor. Oh, Basil! you have said that you can save him Save him that lov’d you well, that gave you all That was his own

Bas. May curses light on him! Why should his sneaking face thus cross my love?

Flor. In Heaven alone I put my trust to save him; Profane my sight no longer, sir. Away!

Bas. You are right Let him die Tis I am wrong To save a traitor thus, a damned traitor

Flor. Blasphemer, silence!

Bas. Oh, a traitor’s death! ’Tis none so envious but as I’m his brother, I thought to save our name from this foul blot.

Flor. Oh, agony!

Bas. ’Tis true his life Is nothing, and ’tis forfeit but his name Dishonour’d, tainted

Flor. Hold, hold! Let me think. Have mercy! No? [Aside.] Then let me die for him, For thus I could not live. [Aloud.] I will be yours, But not yet

Bas. O, I’ll give a month. I am A courteous wooer then, perchance your love May date, ere we are married ’Tis well so

[Attempts to take her by the hand.]

Flor. I pray you, leave me now

Bas. You swear then

Flor. Yes!

Bas. By all that’s holy?

Flor. Sir! it is enough, I have said that if you claim me in a month, I will be yours, if living go! now, go!

Bas. Remember that his life alone I promise

Flor. His life, his life! O God! Quick, save his life

[He takes her hand, which he kisses; she withdraws it with an expression of pain. Exeunt, FLORENCE, L., BASIL, R.]

SCENE III.

[Last Cut.] [3rd Grooves.]

View of Westminster Abbey. Sunset.

Enter three or four Citizens, meeting severally.

1st Cit. The skies weep not, there is no shock to the earth.
Art thou not Peter Ingram? Yet the king
Hath been beheaded, lost his head!
The king
Of England murther’d, slain in open day!

2nd Cit. I did not think they would do it
Who’ll be king
Now he is dead?

3rd Cit. Why some say none.

4th Cit. Indeed, The Parliament is king.

2nd Cit. They say that Cromwell
Had much to do in this.
Were you there?

1st Cit. No.

Others. Nor I.

2nd Cit. Here comes another. We shall hear, If he hath seen.

Enter another Citizen.

5th Cit. Oh, eyes! Oh, ears! Alas!

1st Cit. Were you there?

5th Cit. Was I not? He died right well, As ’twere a man that nothing had to lose, Save the poor head he gave his enemies.

1st Cit. Indeed you’re right, he had not much of late.

2nd Cit. How was it?

5th Cit. Well, they would not let him speak Much, for the sound of the drums are ye this way? My wife is waiting, she is curious; come, I’ll tell you all I saw [Exeunt severally.]

Enter two Gentlemen, R. and L.

1st Gent., L. All, then, is oer: the body they have taken To lie in Whitehall

2nd Gent., R. So I heard. Where are The men who order’d it?

1st Gent. I know not. Cromwell Was there; I noted him.

2nd Gent. How looked he when The king came forth? I had no eyes for aught Except the prisoner.

1st Gent. It so happen’d that, Marking his face by chance, I could not keep My eyes from off him.

2nd Gent. Ay, how did he seem? For he had much to do in this great matter.

1st Gent. Ere all was ready, while ’mid wolfish noise
The patient pale king lipp’d the deafen’d air,
O’er Cromwell’s face approaching doom grew large
In stony horror. Then ’twas calm and fix’d.
Destruction’s god, from his broad, wizard throne,
Might on the front of coming whirlwinds, as
They near’d his footstool, look unchang’d as he did:
Sphinx-like!
But, when the deed was done,
The flash that left the swift-descending axe
In triumph fiercely shot into his eyes,
A moment welling quick successive fires,
Like sudden birth of stars ’tween wintry clouds:
Then came a look of doubt and wonderment,
As if it were a thing he knew not of,
And shudder’d at, amaz’d that it was so.
His hollow eye wan’d like the moon’s eclipse;
And then he clutch’d his sword, and strove to read
Men’s faces near him, and so, furious, leapt
On his black war-horse, standing saddled by,
And unattended, save by that red scene,
Like an arm’d pestilence, rode swift away!

2nd Gent. You make me tremble with your picture; surely This Cromwell is a great and wondrous man.

1st Gent. Unto all fortune doth he shape himself; One knows not where he learnt it.

2nd Gent. They do say A something did appear to him in youth, Telling he should be great.

1st Gent. I think he hath Whisper’d that round to choke the envious With supernatural awe.

2nd Gent. I know not; but He hath great power with the army, gain’d By most corporeal acts.

1st Gent. Shall you attend The funeral?

2nd Gent. It were not wise, I think; There will be riots. It grows dark. Good evening!

[They part, 1st Gent. R., 2nd Gent. L., Exeunt.]

The stage grows dark. Enter a Drunken Preacher with a Rabble of Soldiers, Artisans, and Women, U.E.L. and R.

Preach. So, my beloved, this Ahab has lost his head, as it might be the froth of thin ale. I am thirsty in the flesh! Will no man be a surety for a poor preacher of the Lord at the sign of Balaam’s Ass? ’Tis hard by; and I would speak a few more words of grace on this soul-stirring occasion, but my tongue is parched. Ho! every one that thirsteth, come unto me, or I will go with you.

A Soldier. Hold thy peace; for I would fain speak. This is a great day in Israel.

Preach. Hear me, my brethren! This is a false prophet.

Sold. Smite him!

Woman. Nay, touch him an’ you dare. [To the Soldier.] ’Tis Master Ephraim Bumling. I would thy head were chopped off, like the sour-faced king’s this morning.

1st Art. Down with all kings!

2nd Art. No taxes!

3rd Art. We’ll all be kings!

4th Art. With our heads on, though.

1st Art. Cease quarrelling, and come and play at skittles.

2nd Art. With the king’s head for a ball?

A Woman. Ay, he was a bad man to his wife, and deserved to die.

3rd Art. And a pagan Turk.

2nd Art. That would have made all us Christians deny pork.

3rd Art. And built ships with our houses.

2nd Art. Well, it’s a rare sight to see a king die. A bishop is something; but a king is a treat for a poor man’s holiday.

1st Art. But we shall not be poor now.

All. Down with all kings! Live Cromwell! live the Parliament, live Fairfax, live everybody!

[Exeunt severally.]

Stage dark. The moon shines brilliantly upon the abbey.

Enter CROMWELL, cloaked, U.E.R.

Crom. This night the place looks older than it is,
As if some future centuries had pass’d,
Leaving their shadows on it
Yon tall towers,
That pierce the unsettled sky,
Seem not to point unto the stars that watch
My coming greatness; but with solemn air
To frown back on the memory of Cromwell
Yon dark cathedral, whose sharp turret spires
Look like funereal firs on Ararat,
When the sun setting stream’d in blood upon
The fast decaying waters that huge pile
Of gloomy worship to the God of ages,
Feels like this age’s tomb and monument.
Would I were buried in it, so I might
Sleep there for O, I cannot sleep to-night.
My molten blood runs singing through my veins.
It is no wonder: I have known less things
Disturb my rest; besides, there is a thought
Hath led me forth Come, let me deal with it.

’Tis midnight! Now to face him were a deed,
To feel that one had done it not to tell.
To fold the arms and look upon the work
That I have wrought with stedfast, iron will
There’s evil fascination in the thought:
Grows to desire!
I cannot stay my feet!
Like one in dreams, or hurried by a storm,
That hales him on with wild uncertain steps,
I move on to the thing I dread.
[Sighs deeply.]
Methought
A voice stole on mine ears as if a sword
[Sighs again.]
Clove the oppressive air. Why do I shrink?
On Naseby field my bare head tower’d high;
And now I bend me, though my tingling ears
Unconscious but drink in the deep-drawn sigh,
That doth attend on greatness.
This is folly.
O coward fancy, lie still in thy grave!
A king doth keep his coffin, why not thou?
I’ll meet him like a conqueror, whose cheek
Flushes with manly pity. Could it be
That he had lived without his country’s shame!
But no! and thus, I come, Charles Stuart! to tell
Thy bloodless clay, that I repent me not!
No! if a hecatomb of kings were slain,
I’d own the deed unto their legion’d spirits! [Exit, L.]

SCENE IV.

[Last Grooves.]

A State Room in Whitehall. The moon shines through the windows.

On a large bed with crimson hangings, surmounted with black plumes, is seen a Coffin and pall, richly emblazoned with the royal arms of England. On each side an Ironside keeping guard with a matchlock. They walk to and fro, and speak as they meet.

1st Iron. I tell thee, Bowtell, I would this watch were over.

2nd Iron. I would it were a bright morning, with our pike-heads glittering in the sun. I would rather it were a charge of Rupert’s best cavalry in our rear.

1st Iron. I mind when I saw him once alive, ’twas at the close of the fight, and he would have charged once more, but a false Scotch noble held him back to his ruin. Had I been he, I would have cloven the false Scot to the chine. I was a prisoner, and near him; he had a tall white plume then. His dark face showed very eager beneath it.

2nd. Iron. Ay, I have heard good Jepherson tell of it, and how the Lord blinded them all.

1st Iron. I mind his very words, “Charles Stuart begs a little loyal blood To do him right a charge, but one more charge! Come on, we do command, come on. O cowards! Had I but fifty of my nephew Rupert!” And then he waved his sword, as ’twere the whole cut and thrust exercise in the air at once, and his plume fluttered like a white bird in the eye of a tempest. If he should speak now [A footstep is heard, both look round.]

2nd Iron. Didst thou hear nought?

1st Iron. O for a stoop of strong waters!

2nd Iron. Hist! ’twas like a soldier’s tread in the long gallery beyond.

1st Iron. Nay, ’tis the echo of thine own feet.

2nd Iron ’Tis a footstep. Hark, it stops!

1st Iron. Do thou speak.

Enter CROMWELL, L.

[They bring their matchlocks to bear.] The word, or else we fire!

Crom. [Muttering.] Had Zimri peace, who slew his master?

2nd Iron. Hold! ’Tis the General.

Crom. Ha! how fare you?

[The Soldiers move towards the door, coming from the coffin.]

Stay, Bowtell!
Open me yonder coffin, dost not hear?
Quick, fool! Thy mouth is all agape; as if
Thou didst lack tidings. What dost quiver for?
Give me thy sword. [Wrenches open the coffin.]
I would see how he looks:
Perchance, I may undo the look he sent, [Aside.]
In search of me this morn from off the scaffold.

Bow. My Lord! Shall we go?

Crom. Ay, I would lift my voice In prayer awhile. Nay, leave your matchlocks. So.

[Exeunt Soldiers.]

[The steps of the Soldiers are heard gradually retreating. CROMWELL following them to the side.]

It is an hour since I did speak to them!
The air is life-like and intelligent,
I seem to fret it as I move along;
Yet this is Death’s abode!

[Looks cautiously round calls in another tone.]

Ho! there holà!
We are alone. I do forget me stay

[Advances to the coffin.]

Like the hot iron to the quivering flesh
Be this test to my soul, to look on him,
To set my living face by his dead face;
Then tax him with the deeds for which I slew him.

[Opens the coffin very gently.]

O Thou discrowned and insensible clay!
Thou beggar corpse!
Stripp’d, ’midst a butcher’d score, or so, of men,
Upon a bleak hill-side, beneath the rack
Of flying clouds torn by the cannon’s boom,
If the red, trampled grass were all thy shroud,
The scowl of Heaven thy plumed canopy,
Thou might’st be any one!
How is it with thee? Man! Charles Stuart! King!
See, the white, heavy, overhanging lids
Press on his grey eyes, set in gory death!
How blanch’d his dusky cheek! that late was flush’d
Because a people would not be his slaves,
And now a, worm may mock him
This strong frame
Promis’d long life, ’tis constituted well;
’Twas but a lying promise, like the rest!
Dark is the world, of tyranny within
Yon roofless house, where Silence holds her court
Before Decay’s last revel.
Yet, O king,
I would insult thee not. But if thy spirit
Circle unseen around the guilty clay,
Till it be buried, and those solemn words
Give “dust to dust,” leaving the soul no home
On this vain earth,
O hear me!
Or if still
There be a something sentient in the body,
Through all corruption’s stages, till our frames
Rot, rot, and seem no more, and thus the soul
Is cag’d in bones through which the north wind rattles,
Or haunts the black skull wash’d up by the waves
Upon the moaning shore poor weeping skull,
From whose deep-blotted, eyeless socket-holes
The dank green seaweed drips its briny tear
If it be so, that round the festering grave,
Where yet some earth-brown, human relic moulders,
The parting ghost may linger to the last,
Till it have share in all the elements,
Shriek in the storm, or glide in summer air,
O hear me!

Or, if thou hast stood already,
Shrivell’d, but for His mercy, into nought,
Before the blaze of Heaven’s offended eye,
And hast receiv’d thy sentence Hear me, thence!
There is none with us now!
Thus then I lay my hand upon thy breast,
And while my heart is nearly still as thine,
Swear that I slew thee but to stop thy crimes;
(O soul of Charles, wilt thou not plead for Cromwell?)
Swear that I would my head were low as thine,
Could’st thou have liv’d belov’d, and loving England
For I have done a deed in slaying thee
Shall wring the world’s heart with its memory;
Men shall believe me not, as they are base,
Fools shall cry “hypocrite,” as they dare judge
The naked fervour of my struggling soul.
God judge between us! I am arm’d in this,
Could’st thou have reign’d, not crushing English hearts
With fierce compression of thine iron sway,
Cromwell had liv’d contented and unknown
To teach his children loyalty and faith
Sacred and simple, as the grass-grown mound,
That should have press’d more lightly on his bones,
Than ever greatness on his wearied spirit!

Re-enter the Ironsides, L. They ground their Matchlocks.

[CROMWELL starting.] Another blow? no, no! there was but one: He suffered nothing!

Bowt. Worthy General, We are return’d.

Crom. [Replacing his Cloak, after covering the Coffin, as before.] Ha! have ye drunk well, fellows? I knew not that ye had such cold work here. [Gives them Money.] Now, on your lives, no word of this.

Bowt. May ’t please you, What form of Government shall we have now?

Crom. It does not please me, fool! to stand here prating;
Ask him trick’d out in yonder lying state,
Who shall succeed him. [Points to the Coffin.]
Surely, I know nought,
That am the meanest servant of the Lord
To do his work alone. See ye to yours. [Exit, L.]

[The Sentinels resume their walk. The Clock strikes one. As it strikes, the Guard is heard approaching, and whilst it is relieving them the Scene closes.]