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 Garland [indignantly repelling him. Great Heaven! Syndercomb. Why shout so loud? Garland. Strike when he prays? Syndercomb.What should we do? Garland. Pray. Pray against him. Pray. A truce to murd'rous rage! And let us leave To God the choice 'twixt the two prayers. [The Puritan conspirators bend their heads and pray.—A pause. Cromwell [rising.] 'Tis well!

[With ' help, ' puts on the robe. Overton [to the Puritans, in an undertone. My friends! my friends! he dons his winding-sheet! Garland [in an undertone. Observe him now! The scarlet progeny Of prostituted Tyre. Wildman [in an undertone.] O lightning, strike!

Syndercomb [aside.]A brilliant retinue borrowed from hell! Purple and ermine, gilded noblemen, And soldiers clad in steel; a throne beplumed, Surmounted by a towering canopy,