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 Striving to save his head, having lost his crown, Alone and friendless, in mid-London chose, Therein to hide from Cromwell.
 * [He looks again at the letter.

But this note, Which I had yesterday, whence does it come? The hand— Ormond [rising.]May God preserve Lord Broghill! Broghill [eying him disdainfully from head to foot. What! Was 't you, my friend, who caused me, at this hour, To quit my dwelling for this smoky den? Tell me your name. Whence came you? Or from whom? What is your errand?—I have seen this man. Ormond.Lord Broghill! Broghill. Answer me! Knaves of your sort Are fit to amuse our servants at our doors; And to entreat them well is all the honour That those of our rank owe to those of yours. I find you bold! Ormond. Saving your Lordship's presence— Discourse you as a people's nobleman, A friend of Cromwell? Broghill. The old Puritan, If you perchance should wake him thus betimes, Would have you hanged full thirty cubits high, To change the course of your ideas. Ormond [aside.] Awake him! Rather I hope to send him off to sleep! Broghill.Cromwell, who'll soon be seated on the throne, Will find a way to chastise the canaille. Ormond.His throne's a block, his purple is bloodstained.