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 Thy haughty eyelids now in slumber close Upon a bed of purple. But thy head The Lord will grind to dust between two stones, And one day we shall see the people rise, Mighty at last, and with thy whitened bones Stone tyrants. For, O Cromwell, more than once The world hath seen Egyptian Pharaohs, Sultans of Ethiopia, popes and dukes, And emperors and despots purple-clad, Playing a bloody game with subject peoples. But amongst all the plagues wherewith the Lord Hath smitten us, O Cromwell, never yet Beneath the sun of Heaven has been seen A man, a magus, or a sovereign, So bold and cruel and astute as thou! Be thou accurst! Cromwell. Have you concluded? Carr. No. Be thou accurst at sunset and at dawn! And in thy steed and in thy chariot! And in thy arms of wood and arms of steel! Cromwell.And is that all? Carr. And in the air thou breathest! In thy bed's canopy, and in thy threshold! Be thou accurst! Cromwell. And is that all? Carr. No. Be accurst! Cromwell.You'll tear your lungs.—Is this the end—at last? Now hark ye. Sentenced for an old offence, You are in prison. I do pardon you, My brother. Go. I break your chains. Carr. Tyrant, And by what right?—Pray dost thou not commit Enough of sins each year? Wouldst thou enlarge