ACT V. SCENE I.-Whitehall. HOLLIS, Lady CARLISLE. Hollis. Tell the King then! Come in with me! Lady Carlisle. He must not hear till it succeeds. Hollis. Not so! Succeed? No dream was half so vain-you'd rescue Strafford To-day. . . is it to-day? And all the while He's sure of the King's pardon. To tell this man he is to die. Think, I have The King May rend his hair, for me! I'll not see Strafford ! Lady Carlisle. Only, if I succeed, remember Charles Has saved him. He would hardly value life Unless his gift. My staunch friends wait. Go in- Hollis. Left Strafford long ago. And all beside The King has signed The warrant for his death! the Queen was sick Of the eternal subject. For the Court,— Only too much of it: the Earl withdrew In time. But you, fragile, alone, so young A plan to save him! Even though it fails, Lady Carlisle. I may go, you think, To France with him? And you reward me, friend, And they bent down that noble brow of his. Hollis. My gentle friend, He should know all and love you, but 't is vain! Lady Carlisle. Love? no-too late now! Let him love the King! 'T is the King's scheme! I have your word, remember! We'll keep the old delusion up. But, quick! Quick! Each of us has work to do, beside! Go to the King! I hope-Hollis-I hope! Say nothing of my scheme! Hush, while we speak Think where he is! Now for my gallant friends! Calling wildly upon Charles, Hollis. Where he is? Guessing his fate, pacing the prison-floor. Let the King tell him! I'll not look on Strafford. SCENE II.-The Tower. STRAFFORD sitting with his Children. They sing. O bell' andare Per barca in mare, Verso la sera Di Primavera! William. The boat 's in the broad moonlight all this while Verso la sera Di Primavera! And the boat shoots from underneath the moon Into the shadowy distance; only still You hear the dipping oar— Verso la sera, And faint, and fainter, and then all's quite gone, Music and light and all, like a lost star. Anne. But you should sleep, father: you were to sleep. Strafford. I do sleep, Anne; or if not-you must know There's such a thing as William. You're too tired to sleep? Strafford. It will come by-and-by and all day long, In that old quiet house I told you of: We sleep safe there. Anne. Strafford. Too Why not in Ireland? No! many dreams!—That song 's for Venice, William: You know how Venice looks upon the map Isles that the mainland hardly can let go? William. You've been to Venice, father? Strafford. I was young, then William. A city with no King; that's why I like Even a song that comes from Venice. Strafford. William! William. Oh, I know why! Anne, do you love the King? But I'll see Venice for myself one day. Strafford. See many lands, boy-England last of all, That way you'll love her best. William. You sought to ruin her then? Strafford. Why do men say Ah, they say that. William. Why? As you to sing. Anne. I suppose they must have words to say, But they make songs beside: Last night I heard one, in the street beneath, They soon left off when I cried out to them. Strafford. We shall so soon be out of it, my boy! 'T is not worth while: who heeds a foolish song? William. Why, not the King. Strafford. Well it has been the fate : Of better; and yet,-wherefore not feel sure To the low ground once more the ignoble Term, That time will do me right? Anne. (Shall we sing, William ? For Ireland, He does not look thus when we sing.) Strafford. Something is done: too little, but enough To show what might have been. William. (I have no heart To sing now! Anne, how very sad he looks! Oh, I so hate the King for all he says!) |