_3rd Poach._ Curse thee, what brings thee here?--

_Arth._ Offhands! ye know me not. [_To 4th POACHER._]
Thou murderous dog!
Wilt cut my throat as thou didst hers?--

[_4th POACHER staggers back._]

_4th Poach._ Will no one finish him? 'Tis a spy;
he will tell of ye all.

[_ARTHUR struggles and they strike at him._]

[_Enter CROMWELL, R.U.E._]

_Crom._ Who be these knaves? What, murder!
Ha! then strike:
Down with the sons of Belial!

[_Strikes down 4th POACHER with his sword. The rest fly._]

The Lord is merciful to thee, young man! [_To ARTHUR._]
Another moment, and thy soul had fled--
Wherefore, I hope, since it hath chanced so,
And yet not chanc'd, since 'tis appointed thus,
That no one falls or lives, unless the God
Of battles hath decreed. Wherefore I trust
Thou art of the good work.

[_Enter WILLIAM, R._]