Page:CromwellHugo.djvu/258

 Davenant [with a shrug. Wilmot is mad. What means this farce? To mingle masquerade with tragedy!

13.—.

Another snare—wherein I well-nigh fell! From my own house they planned to kidnap me; And by the very madness of their plan, They would perchance have triumphed,—who can say? But for my daughter—a mere child—the kings Had lost their master.—What audacity! To come here to the very heart of London, Cromwell to steal away, lacking the heart To fight in open day! Could one foresee So bold and insensate a stroke as this, Unless one were as mad as they?—In vain Do I this writing read and read again, I grasp its meaning but imperfectly.— 'Tis my good fortune they 're all mad together. Good lack! to pay court to the child the while He plots her father to dethrone! To set A pitfall for the lion in his den, And 'neath his very claws play with his whelps! Were they not mad, they 'd seem the greater fools. "The Devil's Chaplain!"—Ah! thou double-face! So Obededom is no saint at all Save in his posturings. Who is he, then? A leader of the accursèd Cavaliers.