Lead then! but I feel strangely: it was not
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Lady Car._ Lean--lean on me! _Straf._ My King!Oh, had he trusted me--his friend of friends! _Lady Car._ I can support him, Hollis! _Straf._ Not this way!This gate--I dreamed of it, this very gate. _Lady Car._ It opens on the river: our good boatIs moored below, our friends are there. _Straf._ The same:Only with something ominous and dark,Fatal, inevitable. _Lady Car._ Strafford! Strafford! _Straf._ Not by this gate! I feel what will be there!I dreamed of it, I tell you: touch it not! _Lady Car._ 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 andconfronts him._ _Pym._ Have I done well? Speak, England! Whose sole sakeI still have labored for, with disregardTo my own heart,--for whom my youth was madeBarren, my manhood waste, to offer upHer 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 sheWould sanctify all means) even to the blockWhich waits for him. And saying this, I feelNo bitterer pang than first I felt, the hourI swore that Wentworth might leave us, but IWould never leave him: I do leave him now.I render up my charge (be witness, God!)To England who imposed it. I have doneHer 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 sayI never loved but one man--David notMore Jonathan! Even thus, I love him nowAnd look for my chief portion in that worldWhere 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 allI look for there; but in my inmost heart,Believe, I think of stealing quite awayTo walk once more with Wentworth--my youth's friendPurged from all error, gloriously renewed,And Eliot shall not blame us. Then indeed ...This is no meeting, Wentworth! Tears increaseToo hot. A thin mist--is it blood?--enwrapsThe face I loved once. Then, the meeting be! _Straf._ I have loved England too; we 'll meet then, Pym;As well die now! Youth is the only timeTo think and to decide on a great course:Manhood with action follows; but 'tis drearyTo 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 tooDies, smothered up. Poor gray old little LaudMay 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 ... _Straf._ Pym, you help England! I, that am to die,What I must see! 'tis here--all here! My God,Let me but gasp out, in one word of fire,How thou wilt plague him, satiating hell!What? England that you help, become through youA green and putrefying charnel, leftOur children ... some of us have children, Pym--Some who, without that, still must ever wearA darkened brow, an over-serious look,And never properly be young! No word?What if I curse you? Send a strong curse forthClothed from my heart, lapped round with horror tillShe 's fit with her white face to walk the worldScaring 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 eachTo 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 ... _Straf._ 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 exactThat service? I obey thee to the end. _Straf._ O God, I shall die first--I shall die first!
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