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 Find fools who've conned their art more thoroughly? Some are by instinct fools, of purpose we! Go to! A jester always doth escape From all mishap. Who would grow old on earth, Where all is fleeting, he must e'en turn fool; Such is the wisest course. Trick. In very truth, Cromwell doth weary me! 'Tis said that Charles Is merrier. Elespuru. The tyrant's eagle eye, Is it fatigued! What! it is we who know What even he knows not; we hold the thread That he as yet sees not! We, Cromwell's fools! Gramadoch.I'll said, Elespuru. We are his jesters, But he's our fool. He thinks that we're his toys; Poor man! he's ours. Doth he deceive us e'er With all his prayers? Or doth he frighten us With that loud voice and pious upward glance The which cause kings to tremble? When he prays Or preaches or proscribes, the hypocrite, Can he e'en glance at us without a smile? His secret policies and deeplaid plans Cozen the whole world save us jesters four. His reign, so fatal to this hapless folk Whom he doth tease and worry, in our sight A foolish drama is, which he doth play. Let us observe. Before our eyes ere long A score of mimes will pass, now calm, now sad, Now merry; we the while, in shadow here, Silent and philosophic lookers-on, Applaud the happy strokes and mock and jeer At the mishaps. Leave we Cromwell and Charles To struggle blindly and each other rend For our diversion! We alone possess The key to this strange riddle. Let us not