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What way to save him from the King?

My soul—
That lent from its own store the charmed disguise
Which clothes the King—he shall behold my soul !)
Strafford,—I shall speak best if you'll not gaze
Upon me: I had never thought, indeed,

To speak, but you would perish too, so sure!
Could you but know what 't is to bear, my frienɑ,
One image stamped within you, turning blank
The else imperial brilliance of your mind,—
A weakness, but most precious,—like a flaw

I' the diamond, which should shape forth some sweet face
Yet to create, and meanwhile treasured there

Lest nature lose her gracious thought for ever!

Strafford. When could it be? no! Yet . . . was it

the day

We waited in the anteroom, till Holland

Should leave the presence-chamber?

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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?
I wish you well: you must be very sure

Of the King's faith, for Pym and all his crew
Will not be idle-setting Vane aside!

Strafford. If Pym is busy,—you may write of Pym. Lady Carlisle. What need, since there 's your King to

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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.
Strafford. I shall not fail in Scotland.
Lady Carlisle.

You'll think of me sometimes!



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

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Well, when the eve has

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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,
And shall the King want Strafford at his need?
Am I not here?

Not in the market-place,

Pressed on by the rough artisans, so proud

To catch a glance from Wentworth! They lie down
Hungry yet smile "Why, it must end some day:
"Is he not watching for our sake?" Not there!

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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
To represent the multitude, receive

All love in right of them-supplant them so,
Until you love the man and not the king-

The man with the mild voice and mournful eyes
Which send me forth.

-To breast the bloody sea

That sweeps before me: with one star for guide.
Night has its first, supreme, forsaken star.


SCENE 1-Opposite Westminster Hall.

Sir HENRY VANE, Lord SAVILE, Lord HOLLAND and others of the Court.

Sir H. Vane. The Commons thrust you out?


From sharing their civility?

Sir H. Vane.

And what kept you

Kept me?

Fresh news from Scotland, sir! worse than the last,
If that may be. All 's up with Strafford there :
Nothing to bar the mad Scots marching hither
Next Lord's-day morning. That detained me, sir!
Well now, before they thrust you out,—go on,
Their Speaker-did the fellow Lenthal say
All we set down for him?


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,

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