_Rudyard._ (And he is here!)--

_Hollis._ For England's sake let every man be still Nor speak of him, so much as say his name, Till Pym rejoin us! Rudyard! Henry Vane!

One rash conclusion may decide our course And with it England's fate--think--England's fate!

Hampden, for England's sake they should be still!

_Vane._ You say so, Hollis? Well, I must be still.

It is indeed too bitter that one man, Any one man's mere presence, should suspend England's combined endeavor: little need To name him!

_Rudyard._ For you are his brother, Hollis!

_Hampden._ Shame on you, Rudyard! time to tell him that, When he forgets the Mother of us all.

_Rudyard._ Do I forget her?

_Hampden._ You talk idle hate Against her foe: is that so strange a thing?

Is hating Wentworth all the help she needs?

_A Puritan._ The Philistine strode, cursing as he went: But David--five smooth pebbles from the brook Within his scrip....

_Rudyard._ Be you as still as David!

_Fiennes._ Here's Rudyard not ashamed to wag a tongue Stiff with ten years' disuse of Parliaments; Why, when the last sat, Wentworth sat with us!

_Rudyard._ Let's hope for news of them now he returns-- He that was safe in Ireland, as we thought!

--But I'll abide Pym's coming.

_Vane._ Now, by Heaven, They may be cool who can, silent who will-- Some have a gift that way! Wentworth is here, Here, and the King's safe closeted with him Ere this. And when I think on all that's past Since that man left us, how his single arm Rolled the advancing good of England back And set the woeful past up in its place, Exalting Dagon where the Ark should be,-- How that man has made firm the fickle King (Hampden, I will speak out!)--in aught he feared To venture on before; taught tyranny Her dismal trade, the use of all her tools, To ply the scourge yet screw the gag so close That strangled agony bleeds mute to death; How he turns Ireland to a private stage For training infant villanies, new ways Of wringing treasure out of tears and blood, Unheard oppressions nourished in the dark To try how much man's nature can endure --If he dies under it, what harm? if not, Why, one more trick is added to the rest Worth a king's knowing, and what Ireland bears England may learn to bear:--how all this while That man has set himself to one dear task, The bringing Charles to relish more and more Power, power without law, power and blood too --Can I be still?

_Hampden._ For that you should be still.

_Vane._ Oh Hampden, then and now! The year he left us, The People in full Parliament could wrest The Bill of Rights from the reluctant King; And now, he'll find in an obscure small room A stealthy gathering of great-hearted men That take up England's cause: England is here!

_Hampden._ And who despairs of England?

_Rudyard._ That do I, If Wentworth comes to rule her. I am sick To think her wretched masters, Hamilton, The muckworm Cottington, the maniac Laud, May yet be longed-for back again. I say, I do despair.

_Vane._ And, Rudyard, I'll say this-- Which all true men say after me, not loud But solemnly and as you'd say a prayer!

This King, who treads our England underfoot, Has just so much ... it may be fear or craft, As bids him pause at each fresh outrage; friends, He needs some sterner hand to grasp his own, Some voice to ask, "Why shrink? Am I not by?"

Now, one whom England loved for serving her, Found in his heart to say, "I know where best The iron heel shall bruise her, for she leans Upon me when you trample." Witness, you!

So Wentworth heartened Charles, so England fell.

But inasmuch as life is hard to take From England....

_Many Voices._ Go on, Vane! 'Tis well said, Vane!

_Vane._ --Who has not so forgotten Runnymead!--

_Voices._ 'Tis well and bravely spoken, Vane! Go on!

_Vane._ --There are some little signs of late she knows The ground no place for her. She glances round, Wentworth has dropped the hand, is gone his way On other service: what if she arise?

No! the King beckons, and beside him stands The same bad man once more, with the same smile And the same gesture. Now shall England crouch, Or catch at us and rise?

_Voices._ The Renegade!

Haman! Ahithophel!

_Hampden._ Gentlemen of the North, It was not thus the night your claims were urged, And we p.r.o.nounced the League and Covenant, The cause of Scotland, England's cause as well: Vane there, sat motionless the whole night through.

_Vane._ Hampden!

_Fiennes._ Stay, Vane!

_Loudon._ Be just and patient, Vane!

_Vane._ Mind how you counsel patience, Loudon! you Have still a Parliament, and this your League To back it; you are free in Scotland still: While we are brothers, hope's for England yet.

But know you wherefore Wentworth comes? to quench This last of hopes? that he brings war with him?

Know you the man's self? what he dares?

_Loudon._ We know, All know--'tis nothing new.

_Vane._ And what's new, then, In calling for his life? Why, Pym himself-- You must have heard--ere Wentworth dropped our cause He would see Pym first; there were many more Strong on the people's side and friends of his, Eliot that's dead, Rudyard and Hampden here, But for these Wentworth cared not; only, Pym He would see--Pym and he were sworn, 'tis said, To live and die together; so, they met At Greenwich. Wentworth, you are sure, was long, Specious enough, the devil's argument Lost nothing on his lips; he'd have Pym own A patriot could not play a purer part Than follow in his track; they two combined Might put down England. Well, Pym heard him out; One glance--you know Pym's eye--one word was all: "You leave us, Wentworth! while your head is on, I'll not leave you."

_Hampden._ Has he left Wentworth, then?

Has England lost him? Will you let him speak, Or put your crude surmises in his mouth?

Away with this! Will you have Pym or Vane?

_Voices._ Wait Pym's arrival! Pym shall speak.

_Hampden._ Meanwhile Let Loudon read the Parliament's report From Edinburgh: our last hope, as Vane says, Is in the stand it makes. Loudon!

_Vane._ No, no!

Silent I can be: not indifferent!

_Hampden._ Then each keep silence, praying G.o.d to spare His anger, cast not England quite away In this her visitation!

_A Puritan._ Seven years long The Midianite drove Israel into dens And caves. Till G.o.d sent forth a mighty man,

_PYM enters_

Even Gideon!

_Pym._ Wentworth's come: nor sickness, care, The ravaged body nor the ruined soul, More than the winds and waves that beat his ship, Could keep him from the King. He has not reached Whitehall: they've hurried up a Council there To lose no time and find him work enough.

Where's Loudon? your Scots' Parliament....

_Loudon._ Holds firm: We were about to read reports.

_Pym._ The King Has just dissolved your Parliament.

_Loudon and other Scots._ Great G.o.d!

An oath-breaker! Stand by us, England, then!