_Crom._ Thy brother is a worker in my hands,
Leave him to me; the old man loves his wealth
Too well. I say, go quickly, and return
With speed direct--I'd have thee near me, [_Aside._] for
Thy noble confidence that dares to speak
The first-fruits of thy mind,--
I have regard [_Aloud._]
For thee, young man, see that you keep it warm
As now--but mind, no swords, as ye are brothers--
Not e'en reproach.--Sweet heart, when foolish mercy
[_To his daughter._]
Doth beg an idle tale from thy dear lips,
Perchance thou'lt seek thy father--until then,
All good be with thee! [_Crosses to R._]
Sir! I will direct [_To Arthur._]
A present escort for you.

[_Exit CROMWELL, R._]

_Arth._ Lady! deem
My heart coin'd into words to thank you nothing
For payment of this service.

_Eliz._ Sympathy
Is just as often born of happiness,
As bitter suffering of the world's contempt.
Within the magic circle of a home,
Happy and loved as mine is,
The heart is touched with pity's gentle wand
To do her lightest bidding--