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 Beware lest it be like that maskèd spectre That mounts a scaffold on th' appointed day, A fearful ending of vainglorious dreams! The throne may be approached from but one side; On that side one ascends, and on the other, Goes downward to the tomb. Should'st thou assume Those tattered purple robes, beware the day When thou shalt see in this same hall a court, Whereof thou wilt no longer be a part. For it may be, believe me, that at last, 'Gainst a new sceptre armed with thy old sword, This people, whom thy precept still doth guide, Will take alarm, and of thy royalty Think less than of thy regicidal deed!— Dost not recoil?—Oh! prithee cast away This player's sceptre and this kingly mask! Be Cromwell still. The balance of the world Do thou hold true. Let this free people reign Over the nations. Reign not over it. Safeguard its liberties. Ah! in its pride How often hath this people blushed to see Thy genius supplicate in Parliament, By dint of gold, a tyrant's privilege! Oh! give the lie to thy base flatterers; Be great and noble. Legislator, judge, Apostle, conqueror, be more than king. Ascend once more to thy first eminence. It needed but a word to make the light: At Milton's voice be Cromwell once again!
 * [He throws himself at  feet.

Cromwell [raising him, with a scornful gesture. The good man views the thing in a strange light!— You are too much the poet, Master Milton, The Privy Council's clerk-interpreter. In the fierce ardour of a lyric fit,