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  But—He is my eldest-born! God gave him to me on a day of joy. 'Tis my own blood this blade will cause to flow! In childhood, what a multitude of ills, Of care and pain, ay, and of happiness, He caused me!—For did I but appear Before his eyes, joyous and radiant He 'd stretch his little arms to their full length To grasp my hands, while his whole body quivered As he had wings. Methought a star had gleamed Before my eyes, when he did smile on me! Richard.So much the worse for him, for he 's a tyrant! Cromwell [aside. Ha! that word turns the scale; for when a son Turns parricide, he is no more a son. [He creeps up behind  with his dagger uplifted. Die, traitor!

But in yon dark passages What sounds are these! 'Tis Ormond and his friends Returning. I will follow up the thread Of my son's treachery; and afterward We will lay bare the whole dark tragedy.