_Crom._ I did but say
If ye should meet him, ye would not turn back.

_Soldiers._ No! No!

_Crom._ Nor slur the onset?

_Soldiers._ No!

_Crom._ Nor spare
A courtier for his likeness to the King?

_Soldiers._ No! No!

_Crom._ Why then ye are mine own, [_observing the soldiers._]
My brave and trusty Ironsides! See here
Are some right honest faces I have known
From childhood, and they'll follow me to death,
If needed.--Let the paltry Scot go hence,
And even Fairfax rein his charger back--
We'll on unto the breach. The Lord Himself
Will ride in thunder with our mail-clad host:
The proudest head that ever wore a crown
Shall not withstand us.--Strike! and spare not! Ho!
Down with the curs'd of God!

_Soldiers._ A Cromwell! Cromwell!
Let us come on!