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Trick.Now, for our glosses to supply a text, D'ye know mysterious things are here toward? Giraff.Cromwell turns king; old Satan would be God. Gramadoch.'Tis said his game by two conspiracies Is brought to nought. Elespuru. The army's malcontent, The people murmur. Trick. If he put aside His armour for the royal robe, woe, woe To the apostate! his unshielded heart Offers a fairer mark to vengeful blades. Giraff.For me, I revel in confusion dire. I'll spur the dogs and wolves to rend and tear. 'Twould give me keenest pleasure to behold Satan, upon a monstrous gridiron, Place in Noll Cromwell's hands a red-hot sword, Ride madly upon Cavaliers, and play At bowls with Roundheads! Trick. Brothers, what say you To the new chaplain, who his blessing gave With such a crafty grimace? Elespuru. Humph! Giraff. The deuce! Gramadoch.A plague on him? Trick. E'en so!—That all of us Do think alike in his regard, is plain. Gramadoch. Friends, listen to a tale I have to telL
 * [They gather about .