ACT III.

SCENE, I.

[_1st Grooves._]

_An apartment in Cromwell's house._

_Enter CROMWELL, ARTHUR, the LADY ELIZABETH, L._

_Crom._ To have a home, that is no fitting home,
Is worse than the sad orphan's part, who gathers
His lean crumbs from the world's wide eager table,
And pares the flint-stones borne in stranger breasts,
To eke him out against the cruel winds--

[_Crosses to his daughter._]

Thou say'st she was thy playmate--
Come, thou hast
Mov'd the stern soldier to thy woman's will.
Go, sir! [To Arthur.] and fetch this Florence from her roof.
There should be no such scandal done in England,
As the loud insult of a marriage forc'd
Before God's altar.

_Arth._ If they do oppose?