[_Goes out._

_Wentworth._ Heartless! but all are heartless here. Go now, Forsake the People!

I did not forsake The People: they shall know it, when the King Will trust me!--who trusts all beside at once, While I have not spoke Vane and Savile fair, And am not trusted: have but saved the throne: Have not picked up the Queen's glove prettily, And am not trusted. But he'll see me now.

Weston is dead: the Queen's half English now-- More English: one decisive word will brush These insects from ... the step I know so well!

The King! But now, to tell him ... no--to ask What's in me he distrusts:--or, best begin By proving that this frightful Scots affair Is just what I foretold. So much to say, And the flesh fails, now, and the time is come, And one false step no way to be repaired.

You were avenged, Pym, could you look on me.

_PYM enters._

_Wentworth._ I little thought of you just then.

_Pym._ No? I Think always of you, Wentworth.

_Wentworth._ The old voice!

I wait the King, sir.

_Pym._ True--you look so pale!

A Council sits within; when that breaks up He'll see you.

_Wentworth._ Sir, I thank you.

_Pym._ Oh, thank Laud!

You know when Laud once gets on Church affairs The case is desperate: he'll not be long To-day: he only means to prove, to-day, We English all are mad to have a hand In butchering the Scots for serving G.o.d After their fathers' fashion: only that!

[Ill.u.s.tration: Whitehall]

_Wentworth._ Sir, keep your jests for those who relish them!

(Does he enjoy their confidence?) 'Tis kind To tell me what the Council does.

_Pym._ You grudge That I should know it had resolved on war Before you came? no need: you shall have all The credit, trust me!

_Wentworth._ Have the Council dared-- They have not dared ... that is--I know you not.

Farewell, sir: times are changed.

_Pym._ --Since we two met At Greenwich? Yes: poor patriots though we be, You cut a figure, makes some slight return For your exploits in Ireland! Changed indeed, Could our friend Eliot look from out his grave!

Ah, Wentworth, one thing for acquaintance' sake, Just to decide a question; have you, now, Felt your old self since you forsook us?

_Wentworth._ Sir!

_Pym._ Spare me the gesture! you misapprehend.

Think not I mean the advantage is with me.

I was about to say that, for my part, I never quite held up my head since then-- Was quite myself since then: for first, you see, I lost all credit after that event With those who recollect how sure I was Wentworth would outdo Eliot on our side.

Forgive me: Savile, old Vane, Holland here, Eschew plain-speaking: 'tis a trick I keep.

_Wentworth._ How, when, where, Savile, Vane, and Holland speak, Plainly or otherwise, would have my scorn, All of my scorn, sir....

_Pym._ ... Did not my poor thoughts Claim somewhat?

_Wentworth._ Keep your thoughts! believe the King Mistrusts me for their prattle, all these Vanes And Saviles! make your mind up, o' G.o.d's love, That I am discontented with the King!

_Pym._ Why, you may be: I should be, that I know, Were I like you.

_Wentworth._ Like me?

_Pym._ I care not much For t.i.tles: our friend Eliot died no lord, Hampden's no lord, and Savile is a lord; But you care, since you sold your soul for one.

I can't think, therefore, your soul's purchaser Did well to laugh you to such utter scorn When you twice prayed so humbly for its price, The thirty silver pieces ... I should say, The Earldom you expected, still expect, And may. Your letters were the movingest!

Console yourself: I've borne him prayers just now From Scotland not to be oppressed by Laud, Words moving in their way: he'll pay, be sure, As much attention as to those you sent.

_Wentworth._ False, sir! Who showed them you? Suppose it so, The King did very well ... nay, I was glad When it was shown me: I refused, the first!

John Pym, you were my friend--forbear me once!

_Pym._ Oh, Wentworth, ancient brother of my soul, That all should come to this!

_Wentworth._ Leave me!

_Pym._ My friend, Why should I leave you?

_Wentworth._ To tell Rudyard this, And Hampden this!

_Pym._ Whose faces once were bright At my approach, now sad with doubt and fear, Because I hope in you--yes, Wentworth, you Who never mean to ruin England--you Who shake off, with G.o.d's help, an obscene dream In this Ezekiel chamber, where it crept Upon you first, and wake, yourself, your true And proper self, our Leader, England's Chief, And Hampden's friend!

This is the proudest day!

Come, Wentworth! Do not even see the King!

The rough old room will seem itself again!

We'll both go in together: you've not seen Hampden so long: come: and there's Fiennes: you'll have To know young Vane. This is the proudest day!

[_The KING enters. WENTWORTH lets fall PYM'S hand._

_Charles._ Arrived, my lord?--This gentleman, we know Was your old friend.

The Scots shall be informed What we determine for their happiness.

[_PYM goes out._

You have made haste, my lord.

_Wentworth._ Sir, I am come....

_Charles._ To see an old familiar--nay, 'tis well; Aid us with his experience: this Scots' League And Covenant spreads too far, and we have proofs That they intrigue with France: the Faction too, Whereof your friend there is the head and front, Abets them,--as he boasted, very like.

_Wentworth._ Sir, trust me! but for this once, trust me, sir!

_Charles._ What can you mean?

_Wentworth._ That you should trust me, sir!

Oh--not for my sake! but 'tis sad, so sad That for distrusting me, you suffer--you Whom I would die to serve: sir, do you think That I would die to serve you?

_Charles._ But rise, Wentworth!

_Wentworth._ What shall convince you? What does Savile do To prove him.... Ah, one can't tear out one's heart And show it, how sincere a thing it is!