Beside, these walls seem falling on me.

_Lady Carlisle._ Strafford, The wind that saps these walls can undermine Your camp in Scotland, too. Whence creeps the wind?

Have you no eyes except for Pym? Look here!

A breed of silken creatures lurk and thrive In your contempt. You'll vanquish Pym? Old Vane Can vanquish you. And Vane you think to fly?

Rush on the Scots! Do n.o.bly! Vane's slight sneer Shall test success, adjust the praise, suggest The faint result: Vane's sneer shall reach you there.

--You do not listen!

_Strafford._ Oh,--I give that up!

There's fate in it: I give all here quite up.

Care not what old Vane does or Holland does Against me! 'Tis so idle to withstand!

In no case tell me what they do!

_Lady Carlisle._ But, Strafford....

_Strafford._ I want a little strife, beside; real strife; This petty palace-warfare does me harm: I shall feel better, fairly out of it.

_Lady Carlisle._ Why do you smile?

_Strafford._ I got to fear them, child!

I could have torn his throat at first, old Vane's, As he leered at me on his stealthy way To the Queen's closet. Lord, one loses heart!

I often found it on my lips to say "Do not traduce me to her!"

_Lady Carlisle._ But the King....

_Strafford._ The King stood there, 'tis not so long ago, --There; and the whisper, Lucy, "Be my friend Of friends!"--My King! I would have....

_Lady Carlisle._ ... Died for him?

_Strafford._ Sworn him true, Lucy: I can die for him.

_Lady Carlisle._ But go not, Strafford! But you must renounce This project on the Scots! Die, wherefore die?

Charles never loved you.

_Strafford._ And he never will.

He's not of those who care the more for men That they're unfortunate.

_Lady Carlisle._ Then wherefore die For such a master?

_Strafford._ You that told me first How good he was--when I must leave true friends To find a truer friend!--that drew me here From Ireland,--"I had but to show myself And Charles would spurn Vane, Savile, and the rest"-- You, child, to ask me this?

_Lady Carlisle._ (If he have set His heart abidingly on Charles!) Then, friend, I shall not see you any more.

_Strafford._ Yes, Lucy.

There's one man here I have to meet.

_Lady Carlisle._ (The King!

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 'tis to bear, my friend, 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?

_Lady Carlisle._ What?

_Strafford._ --That I Described to you my love for Charles?

_Lady Carlisle._ (Ah, no-- One must not lure him from a love like that!

Oh, let him love the King and die! 'Tis past.

I shall not serve him worse for that one brief And pa.s.sionate 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 take your part?

He may endure Vane's counsel; but for Pym-- Think you he'll suffer Pym to....

_Strafford._ Child, your hair Is glossier than the Queen's!

_Lady Carlisle._ Is that to ask A curl of me?

_Strafford._ 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._ Prosper--if You'll think of me sometimes!

_Strafford._ 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.... Well, when the eve has its last streak The night has its first star.

[_She goes out._

_Strafford._ That voice of hers-- You'd think she had a heart sometimes! His voice Is soft too.

Only G.o.d 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!

But in Whitehall, the whited sepulchre, The....

Curse nothing to-night! Only one name They'll curse in all those streets to-night. Whose fault?