SCENE II.--_Whitehall._

_+Lady+ CARLISLE and WENTWORTH_

_Wentworth._ And the King?

_Lady Carlisle._ Wentworth, lean on me! Sit then!

I'll tell you all; this horrible fatigue Will kill you.

_Wentworth._ No;--or, Lucy, just your arm; I'll not sit till I've cleared this up with him: After that, rest. The King?

_Lady Carlisle._ Confides in you.

_Wentworth._ Why? or, why now?--They have kind throats, the knaves!

Shout for me--they!

_Lady Carlisle._ You come so strangely soon: Yet we took measures to keep off the crowd-- Did they shout for you?

_Wentworth._ Wherefore should they not?

Does the King take such measures for himself?

Besides, there's such a dearth of malcontents, You say!

_Lady Carlisle._ I said but few dared carp at you.

_Wentworth._ At me? at us, I hope! The King and I!

He's surely not disposed to let me bear The fame away from him of these late deeds In Ireland? I am yet his instrument Be it for well or ill? He trusts me too!

_Lady Carlisle._ The King, dear Wentworth, purposes, I said, To grant you, in the face of all the Court....

_Wentworth._ All the Court! Evermore the Court about us!

Savile and Holland, Hamilton and Vane About us,--then the King will grant me--what?

That he for once put these aside and say-- "Tell me your whole mind, Wentworth!"

_Lady Carlisle._ You professed You would be calm.

_Wentworth._ Lucy, and I am calm!

How else shall I do all I come to do, Broken, as you may see, body and mind, How shall I serve the King? Time wastes meanwhile, You have not told me half. His footstep! No.

Quick, then, before I meet him,--I am calm-- Why does the King distrust me?

_Lady Carlisle._ He does not Distrust you.

_Wentworth._ Lucy, you can help me; you Have even seemed to care for me: one word!

Is it the Queen?

_Lady Carlisle._ No, not the Queen: the party That poisons the Queen's ear, Savile and Holland.

_Wentworth._ I know, I know: old Vane, too, he's one too?

Go on--and he's made Secretary. Well?

Or leave them out and go straight to the charge-- The charge!

_Lady Carlisle._ Oh, there's no charge, no precise charge; Only they sneer, make light of--one may say, Nibble at what you do.

_Wentworth._ I know! but, Lucy, I reckoned on you from the first!--Go on!

--Was sure could I once see this gentle friend When I arrived, she'd throw an hour away To help her ... what am I?

_Lady Carlisle._ You thought of me, Dear Wentworth?

_Wentworth._ But go on! The party here!

_Lady Carlisle._ They do not think your Irish government Of that surpa.s.sing value....

_Wentworth._ The one thing Of value! The one service that the crown May count on! All that keeps these very Vanes In power, to vex me--not that they do vex, Only it might vex some to hear that service Decried, the sole support that's left the King!

_Lady Carlisle._ So the Archbishop says.

_Wentworth._ Ah? well, perhaps The only hand held up in my defence May be old Laud's! These Hollands then, these Saviles Nibble? They nibble?--that's the very word!

_Lady Carlisle._ Your profit in the Customs, Bristol says, Exceeds the due proportion: while the tax....

_Wentworth._ Enough! 'tis too unworthy,--I am not So patient as I thought. What's Pym about?

_Lady Carlisle._ Pym?

_Wentworth._ Pym and the People.

_Lady Carlisle._ O, the Faction!

Extinct--of no account: there'll never be Another Parliament.

_Wentworth._ Tell Savile that!

You may know--(ay, you do--the creatures here Never forget!) that in my earliest life I was not ... much that I am now! The King May take my word on points concerning Pym Before Lord Savile's, Lucy, or if not, I bid them ruin their wise selves, not me, These Vanes and Hollands! I'll not be their tool Who might be Pym's friend yet.

But there's the King!

Where is he?

_Lady Carlisle._ Just apprised that you arrive.

_Wentworth._ And why not here to meet me? I was told He sent for me, nay, longed for me.

_Lady Carlisle._ Because,-- He is now ... I think a Council's sitting now About this Scots affair.

_Wentworth._ A Council sits?

They have not taken a decided course Without me in the matter?

_Lady Carlisle._ I should say....

_Wentworth._ The war? They cannot have agreed to that?

Not the Scots' war?--without consulting me-- Me, that am here to show how rash it is, How easy to dispense with?--Ah, you too Against me! well,--the King may take his time.

--Forget it, Lucy! Cares make peevish: mine Weigh me (but 'tis a secret) to my grave.

_Lady Carlisle._ For life or death I am your own, dear friend!