[_To STRAFFORD._] You know all, then! Why I thought It looked best that the King should save you,--Charles Alone; 'tis a shame that you should owe me aught.

Or no, not shame! Strafford, you'll not feel shame At being saved by me?

_Hollis._ All true! Oh Strafford, She saves you! all her deed! this lady's deed!

And is the boat in readiness? You, friend, Are Billingsley, no doubt. Speak to her, Strafford!

See how she trembles, waiting for your voice!

The world's to learn its bravest story yet.

_Lady Carlisle._ Talk afterward! Long nights in France enough, To sit beneath the vines and talk of home.

_Strafford._ You love me, child? Ah, Strafford can be loved As well as Vane! I could escape, then?

_Lady Carlisle._ Haste!

Advance the torches, Bryan!

_Strafford._ I will die.

They call me proud: but England had no right, When she encountered me--her strength to mine-- To find the chosen foe a craven. Girl, I fought her to the utterance, I fell, I am hers now, and I will die. Beside, The lookers-on! Eliot is all about This place, with his most uncomplaining brow.

_Lady Carlisle._ Strafford!

_Strafford._ I think if you could know how much I love you, you would be repaid, my friend!

_Lady Carlisle._ Then, for my sake!

_Strafford._ Even for your sweet sake, I stay.

_Hollis._ For _their_ sake!

_Strafford._ To bequeath a stain?

Leave me! Girl, humor me and let me die!

_Lady Carlisle._ Bid him escape--wake, King! Bid him escape!

_Strafford._ True, I will go! Die, and forsake the King?

I'll not draw back from the last service.

_Lady Carlisle._ Strafford!

_Strafford._ And, after all, what is disgrace to me?

Let us come, child! That it should end this way!

Lead them! but I feel strangely: it was not To end this way.

_Lady Carlisle._ Lean--lean on me!

_Strafford._ My King!

Oh, had he trusted me--his friend of friends!

_Lady Carlisle._ I can support him, Hollis!

_Strafford._ Not this way!

This gate--I dreamed of it, this very gate.

_Lady Carlisle._ It opens on the river: our good boat Is moored below, our friends are there.

_Strafford._ The same: Only with something ominous and dark, Fatal, inevitable.

_Lady Carlisle._ Strafford! Strafford!

_Strafford._ Not by this gate! I feel what will be there!

I dreamed of it, I tell you: touch it not!

_Lady Carlisle._ To save the King,--Strafford, to save the King!

[_As STRAFFORD opens the door, PYM is discovered with HAMPDEN, VANE, etc. STRAFFORD falls back; PYM follows slowly and confronts him._

_Pym._ Have I done well? Speak, England! Whose sole sake I still have labored for, with disregard To my own heart,--for whom my youth was made Barren, my manhood waste, to offer up Her sacrifice--this friend, this Wentworth here-- Who walked in youth with me, loved me, it may be, And whom, for his forsaking England's cause, I hunted by all means (trusting that she Would sanctify all means) even to the block Which waits for him. And saying this, I feel No bitterer pang than first I felt, the hour I swore that Wentworth might leave us, but I Would never leave him: I do leave him now.

I render up my charge (be witness, G.o.d!) To England who imposed it. I have done Her bidding--poorly, wrongly,--it may be, With ill effects--for I am weak, a man: Still, I have done my best, my human best, Not faltering for a moment. It is done.

And this said, if I say ... yes, I will say I never loved but one man--David not More Jonathan! Even thus, I love him now: And look for my chief portion in that world Where great hearts led astray are turned again, (Soon it may be, and, certes, will be soon: My mission over, I shall not live long,)-- Ay, here I know I talk--I dare and must, Of England, and her great reward, as all I look for there; but in my inmost heart, Believe, I think of stealing quite away To walk once more with Wentworth--my youth's friend Purged from all error, gloriously renewed, And Eliot shall not blame us. Then indeed....

This is no meeting, Wentworth! Tears increase Too hot. A thin mist--is it blood?--enwraps The face I loved once. Then, the meeting be!

_Strafford._ I have loved England too; we'll meet then, Pym.

As well die now! Youth is the only time To think and to decide on a great course: Manhood with action follows; but 'tis dreary, To have to alter our whole life in age-- The time past, the strength gone! As well die now.

When we meet, Pym, I'd be set right--not now!

Best die. Then if there's any fault, fault too Dies, smothered up. Poor grey old little Laud May dream his dream out, of a perfect Church, In some blind corner. And there's no one left.

I trust the King now wholly to you, Pym!

And yet, I know not: I shall not be there: Friends fail--if he have any. And he's weak, And loves the Queen, and.... Oh, my fate is nothing-- Nothing! But not that awful head--not that!

_Pym._ If England shall declare such will to me....

_Strafford._ Pym, you help England! I, that am to die, What I must see! 'tis here--all here! My G.o.d, Let me but gasp out, in one word of fire, How thou wilt plague him, satiating h.e.l.l!

What? England that you help, become through you A green and putrefying charnel, left Our children ... some of us have children, Pym-- Some who, without that, still must ever wear A darkened brow, an over-serious look, And never properly be young! No word?

What if I curse you? Send a strong curse forth Clothed from my heart, lapped round with horror till She's fit with her white face to walk the world Scaring kind natures from your cause and you-- Then to sit down with you at the board-head, The gathering for prayer.... O speak, but speak!

... Creep up, and quietly follow each one home, You, you, you, be a nestling care for each To sleep with,--hardly moaning in his dreams.

She gnaws so quietly,--till, lo he starts, Gets off with half a heart eaten away!

Oh, shall you 'scape with less if she's my child?

You will not say a word--to me--to Him?

_Pym._ If England shall declare such will to me....

_Strafford._ No, not for England now, not for Heaven now,-- See, Pym, for my sake, mine who kneel to you!

There, I will thank you for the death, my friend!

This is the meeting: let me love you well!

_Pym._ England,--I am thine own! Dost thou exact That service? I obey thee to the end.

_Strafford._ O G.o.d, I shall die first--I shall die first!

A lively picture of Cavalier sentiment is given in the "Cavalier Tunes"--which ought to furnish conclusive proof that Browning does not always put himself into his work. They may be compared with the words set to Avison's march given in the last chapter which presents just as sympathetically "Roundhead" sentiment.