What way to save him from the King? My soul- To speak, but you would perish too, so sure! A weakness, but most precious,—like a flaw I' the diamond, which should shape forth some sweet face Lest nature lose her gracious thought for ever! the day We waited in the anteroom, till Holland Should leave the presence-chamber? One must not lure him from a love like that! Oh, let him love the King and die! 'T is past. I shall not serve him worse for that one brief And passionate hope, silent for ever now!) And you are really bound for Scotland then? Strafford. If Pym is busy,-you may write of Pym. Lady Carlisle. What need, since there 's your King to take your part? He may endure Vane's counsel; but for Pym Think you he 'll suffer Pym to . . . Strafford. Is glossier than the Queen's! Lady Carlisle. A curl of me? Strafford. Child, your hair Is that to ask Scotland- -the weary way! Lady Carlisle. Stay, let me fasten it. -A rival's, Strafford? Strafford [showing the George]. He hung it there : twine yours around it, child! Lady Carlisle. No-no-another time-I trifle so! And there's a masque on foot. Farewell. The Court Is dull; do something to enliven us In Scotland: we expect it at your hands. Lady Carlisle. You'll think of me sometimes! Strafford. Prosper-if How think of him And not of you? of you, the lingering streak (A golden one) in my good fortune's eve. Lady Carlisle. Strafford . . . Well, when the eve has Only God can save him now. Be Thou about his bed, about his path! His path! Where 's England's path? Diverging wide, And not to join again the track my foot Must follow-whither? All that forlorn way Among the tombs! Far-far-till . . . What, they do Then join again, these paths? For, huge in the dusk, There's-Pym to face! Why then, I have a foe To close with, and a fight to fight at last Worthy my soul! What, do they beard the King, Not in the market-place, Pressed on by the rough artisans, so proud To catch a glance from Wentworth! They lie down "Is he not watching for our sake?" Not there! But in Whitehall, the whited sepulchre, The .. Curse nothing to-night! Only one name They'll curse in all those streets to-night. Whose fault? Did I make kings? set up, the first, a man All love in right of them-supplant them so, The man with the mild voice and mournful eyes -To breast the bloody sea That sweeps before me: with one star for guide. ACT III. SCENE I.-Opposite Westminster Hall. Sir HENRY VANE, Lord SAVILE, Lord HOLLAND and others of the Court. Sir H. Vane. The Commons thrust you out? Savile. From sharing their civility? Sir H. Vane. And what kept you Kept me? Fresh news from Scotland, sir! worse than the last, Nothing to bar the mad Scots marching hither Well now, Their Speaker-did the fellow Lenthal say Holland. Not a word missed. Ere he began, we entered, Savile, I And Bristol and some more, with hope to breed A wholesome awe in the new Parliament. But such a gang of graceless ruffians, Vane, |