I have no friend in the wide world: nor France

Nor England cares for me: you see the sum
Of what I can avail. Deliver it!

Cha. Take it, my father!

And now say in turn,

Was it done well, my father-sure not well,
To try me thus! I might have seen much cause
For keeping it-too easily seen cause!

But, from that moment, e'en more woefully
My life had pined away, than pine it will.
Already you have much to answer for.
My life to pine is nothing, her sunk eyes

Were happy once! No doubt my people think

That I'm their King still . . . but I cannot strive!
Take it!

Vic. [one hand on the crown CHARLES offers, the

other on his neck.] So few years give it quietly,
My son: It will drop from me. See you not?
A crown's unlike a sword to give away—
That, let a strong hand to a weak hand give!
But crowns should slip from palsied brows to heads
Young as this head-yet mine is weak enough,
E'en weaker than I knew. I seek for phrases
To vindicate my right. 'Tis of a piece!

All is alike gone by with me-who beat
Once D'Orleans in his lines-his very lines!

To have been Eugene's comrade, Louis's rival,
And now...

Cha. [putting the crown on him, to the rest.] The
King speaks, yet none kneels, I think!

Vic. I am then King! As I became a King
Despite the nations-kept myself a King—

So I die King, with Kingship dying too
Around me! I have lasted Europe's time!

What wants my story of completion? Where

Must needs the damning break show! Who mistrusts My children here-tell they of any break

'Twixt my day's sunrise and its fiery fall?

And who were by me when I died but they?

Who? D'Ormea there!

Cha.

Vic.

What means he?

Ever there!

Charles-how to save your story? Mine must go!
Say-say that you refused the crown to me-
Charles, yours shall be my story! You immured
Me, say, at Rivoli. A single year

I spend without a sight of you, then die—
That will serve every purpose-tell that tale
The world!

Cha.

Vic.

Mistrust me? Help!

Past help, past reach!

"Tis in the heart—you cannot reach the heart : This broke mine, that I did believe, you, Charles, Would have denied and so disgraced me.

Charles

Pol.
Has never ceased to be your subject, Sire!
He reigned at first through setting up yourself
As pattern: if he e'er seemed harsh to you,
'Twas from a too intense appreciation

Of your own character: he acted you-
Ne’er for an instant did I think it real,
Or look for any other than this end.

I hold him worlds the worse on that account;
But so it was.

Cha. [to POLYX.] I love you, now, indeed! [To VICTOR.] You never knew me!

Hardly till this moment,

Vic.
When I seem learning many other things,
Because the time for using them is past.
If 'twere to do again! That's idly wished.
Truthfulness might prove policy as good

As guile. Is this my daughter's forehead?--Yes-
I've made it fitter now to be a Queen's

Than formerly-I've ploughed the deep lines there
Which keep too well a crown from slipping off!
No matter. Guile has made me King again.
Louis-'twas in King Victor's time-long since,
When Louis reign'd—and, also, Victor reign'd—
How the world talks already of us two!
God of eclipse and each discolour'd star,
Why do I linger then?

Ha! Where lurks he?

D'Ormea! Come nearer to your King! Now stand!

[Collecting his strength as D'ORMEA approaches.

But you lied, D'Ormea! I do not repent.

[Dies

COLOMBE'S BIRTHDAY.

A Play.

"Ivy and violet, what do ye here,

"With blossom and shoot in the warm spring-weather,

"Hiding the arms of Monchenci and Vere?"

HANMER.