Eschew plain-speaking: ‘tis a trick I have.
WENTWORTH.
How, when, where, — Savile, Vane, and Holland speak, —
Plainly or otherwise, — would have my scorn,
My perfect scorn, Sir . . .
PYM.
. . Did not my poor thoughts
Claim somewhat?
WENTWORTH.
Keep your thoughts! believe the King
Mistrusts me for their speaking, all these Vanes
And Saviles! make your mind up, all of you,
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 titles: 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, Charles did well to laugh
When you twice prayed so humbly for an Earldom.
WENTWORTH.
Pym. . . .
PYM.
And your letters were the movingest!
Console yourself: I’ve borne him prayers just now
From Scotland not to be opprest by Laud —
And moving in their way: he’ll pay, be sure,
As much attention as to those you sent.
WENTWORTH.
False! a lie, Sir!
. . Who told you, Pym?
— But then
The King did very well . . nay, I was glad
When it was shewn me why; — I first refused it!
. . . Pym, you were once my friend — don’t speak to me!
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 — Wentworth — in you
Who never mean to ruin England — you
Who shake, with God’s great help, this frightful dream
Away, now, in this Palace, where it crept
Upon you first, and are yourself — your good
And noble self — our Leader — our dear Chief —
Hampden’s own 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 Vane — I know
You’ll love 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:
(To PYM) The Scots shall be informed
What we determine for their happiness. (Exit PYM.)
You have made haste, my Lord.
WENTWORTH.
Sire . . . I am come . . .
CHARLES.
To aid us with your counsel: this Scots’ League
And Covenant spreads too far, and we have proofs
That they intrigue with France: the Faction, too . . .
WENTWORTH.
(Kneels.) Sire, trust me! but for this once, trust me, Sire!
CHARLES.
What can you mean?
WENTWORTH.
That you should trust me! now!
Oh — not for my sake! but ‘tis sad, so sad
That for distrusting me, you suffer — you
Whom I would die to serve: Sire, do you think
That I would die to serve you?
CHARLES.
But rise, Wentworth!
WENTWORTH.
What shall convince you? What does Savile do
To . . . Ah, one can’t tear out one’s heart — one’s heart —
And show it, how sincere a thing it is!
CHARLES.
Have I not trusted you?
WENTWORTH.
Say aught but that!
It is my comfort, mark you: all will be
So different when you trust me . . as you shall!
It has not been your fault, — I was away,
Maligned — away — and how were you to know?
I am here, now — you mean to trust me, now —
All will go on so well!
CHARLES.
Be sure I will —
I’ve heard that I should trust you: as you came
Even Carlisle was telling me . . . .
WENTWORTH.
No, — hear nothing —
Be told nothing about me! you’re not told
Your right-hand serves you, or your children love you!
CHARLES.
You love me . . only rise!
WENTWORTH.
I can speak now.
I have no right to hide the truth. ‘Tis I
Can save you; only I. Sire, what is done!
CHARLES.
Since Laud’s assured . . . the minutes are within . .
Loath as I am to spill my subjects’ blood . . . .
WENTWORTH.
That is, he’ll have a war: what’s done is done!
CHARLES.
They have intrigued with France; that’s clear to Laud.
WENTWORTH.
Has Laud suggested any way to meet
The war’s expence?
CHARLES.
He’d not decide on that
Until you joined us.
WENTWORTH.
Most considerate!
You’re certain they intrigue with France, these Scots?
(Aside.) The People would be with us!
CHARLES.
Very sure.
WENTWORTH.
(The People for us . . were the People for us!)
Sire, a great thought comes to reward your trust!
Summon a parliament! in Ireland first,
And then in England.
CHARLES.
Madness!
WENTWORTH.
(Aside.) That puts off
The war — gives time to learn their grievances —
To talk with Pym — (To CHARLES). I know the faction, as
They style it, . .
CHARLES.
. . Tutors Scotland!
WENTWORTH.
All their plans
Suppose no parliament: in calling one
You take them by surprise. Produce the proofs
Of Scotland’s treason; bid them help you, then!
Even Pym will not refuse!
CHARLES.
You would begin
With Ireland?
WENTWORTH.
Take no care for that: that’s sure
To prosper.
CHARLES.
You shall rule me: you were best
Return at once: but take this ere you go! (Giving a paper.)
Now, do I trust you? You’re an Earl: my Friend
Of Friends: yes, Strafford, while . . . You hear me not!
WENTWORTH.
Say it all o’er again — but once again —
The first was for the music — once again!
CHARLES.
Strafford, my brave friend, there were wild reports —
Vain rumours . . Henceforth touching Strafford is
To touch the apple of my sight: why gaze
So earnestly?
WENTWORTH.
I am grown young again,
And foolish! . . what was it we spoke of?
CHARLES.
Ireland,
The Parliament, —
WENTWORTH.
I may go when I will?
— Now?
CHARLES.
Are you tired so soon of me?
WENTWORTH.
My King . . . .
But you will not so very much dislike
A Parliament? I’d serve you any way!
CHARLES.
You said just now this was the only way.
WENTWORTH.
Sire, I will serve you!
CHARLES.
Strafford, spare yourself —
You are so sick, they tell me, . . .
WENTWORTH.
’Tis my soul
That’s well and happy, now!
This Parliament —
We’ll summon it, the English one — I’ll care
For every thing: You shall not need them much!
CHARLES.
If they prove restive . . .
WENTWORTH.
I shall be with you!
CHARLES.
Ere they assemble?
WENTWORTH.
I will come, or else
Deposit this infirm humanity
I’the dust! My whole heart stays with you, my King!
(As STRAFFORD goes out, the QUEEN enters.)
CHARLES.
That man must love me!
QUEEN.
Is it over then?
Why he looks yellower than ever! well,
At least we shall not hear eternally
Of his vast services: he’s paid at last.
CHARLES.
Not done with: he engages to surpass
All yet performed in Ireland.
QUEEN.
I had thought
Nothing beyond was ever to be done.
The War, Charles — will he raise supplies enough?
CHARLES.
We’ve hit on an expedient; he . . . that is,
I have advised . . . we have decided on
The calling — in Ireland — of a Parliament.
QUEEN.
O truly! You agree to that? Is this
The first fruit of his counsel? But I guessed
As much.
CHARLES.
This is too idle, Henrietta!
I should know best: He will strain every nerve,
And once a precedent established . . .
QUEEN.
Notice
How sure he is of a long term of favours!
He’ll see the next, and the next after that;
No end to Parliaments!
CHARLES.
Well, it is done:
He talks it smoothly, doubtless: if, indeed,
The Commons here . . .
QUEEN.
Here! you will summon them
Here? Would I were in France again to see
A King!
CHARLES.
But Henrietta . . .
QUEEN.
O the Scots
Do well to spurn your rule!
CHARLES.
But, listen, Sweet . . .
QUEEN.
Let Strafford listen — you confide in him!
CHARLES.
I do not, Love — I do not so confide . .
The Parliament shall never trouble us
. . Nay, hear me! I have schemes — such schemes — we’ll buy
The leaders off: without that, Strafford’s counsel
Had ne’er prevailed on me. Perhaps I call it
To have excuse for breaking it — for ever —
And whose will then the blame be? See you not?
Come, Dearest! — look! the little fairy, now,
That cannot reach my shoulder! Dearest, come! (Exeunt.)
ACT II
Scene I. A HOUSE NEAR WHITEHALL.
(As in Act I. Scene I.)
The same Party enters confusedly; among the first, the younger VANE
and RUDYARD.
RUDYARD.
Twelve subsidies!
VANE.
O Rudyard, do not laugh
At least!
RUDYARD.
True: Strafford called the Parliament —
‘Tis he should laugh!
A PURITAN (entering).
— Out of the serpent’s root
Comes forth a cockatrice.
FIENNES (entering).
— A stinging one,
If that’s the Parliament: twelve subsidies!
A stinging one! but, brother, where’s your word
For Strafford’s other nest-egg — the Scot’s War?
THE PURITAN.
His fruit shall be a fiery flying serpent.
FIENNES.
Shall be? It chips the shell, man; peeps abroad:
Twelve subsidies! —
Why, how now Vane?
RUDYARD.
Hush, Fiennes!
FIENNES.
Ah? . . . but he was not more a dupe than I,
Or you, or any here the day that Pym
Returned with the good news. Look up, dear Vane!
We all believed that Strafford meant us well
In summoning the Parliament . . .
(HAMPDEN enters.)
VANE (starting up).
Now, Hampden,
Clear me! I would have leave to sleep again!
I’d look the People in the face again!
Clear me from having, from the first, hoped, dreamed
Better of Strafford! Fool!
HAMPDEN.
You’ll grow one day
A steadfast light to England, Vane!
RUDYARD.
Ay, Fiennes,
Strafford revived our Parliaments: before,
War was but talked of; there’s an army, now:
Still, we’ve a Parliament. Poor Ireland bears
Another wrench (she dies the hardest death!)
Why . . . speak of it in Parliament! and, lo,
‘Tis spoken! — and console yourselves.
FIENNES.
The jest!
We clamoured, I suppose, thus long, to win
The privilege of laying on ourselves
A sorer burthen than the King dares lay!
RUDYARD.
Mark now: we meet at length: complaints pour in
From every county: all the land cries out
On loans and levies, curses ship-money,
Calls vengeance on the Star-chamber: we lend
An ear: “ay, lend them all the ears you have,”
Puts in the King; “my subjects, as you find,
Are fretful, and conceive great things of you:
Just listen to them, friends: you’ll sanction me
The measures they most wince at, make them yours
Instead of mine, I know: and, to begin,
They say my levies pinch them, — raise me straight
Twelve subsidies!”
FIENNES and others.
All England cannot furnish
Twelve subsidies!
HOLLIS.
But Strafford, just returned
From Ireland . . what has he to do with that?
How could he speak his mind? He left before
The Parliament assembled: Rudyard, friends,
He could not speak his mind! and Pym, who knows
Strafford . . .
RUDYARD.
Would I were sure we know ourselves!
What is for good, what, bad — who friend, who foe!
HOLLIS.
Do you count Parliaments no gain?
RUDYARD.
A gain?
While the King’s creatures overbalance us?
— There’s going on, beside, among ourselves
A quiet, slow, but most effectual course
Of buying over, sapping, . .
A PURITAN.
. . Leavening
The lump till all is leaven.
A VOICE.
Glanville’s gone.
RUDYARD.
; I’ll put a case; had not the Court declared
That no sum short of just twelve subsidies
Will be accepted by the King — our House
Would have consented to that wretched offer
To let us buy off Ship-money?
HOLLIS.
Most like,
If . . . say six subsidies, will buy it off,
The House. . . .
RUDYARD.
. . Will grant them! Hampden, do you hear?
Oh, I congratulate you that the King
Has gained his point at last . . our own assent
To that detested tax! all’s over then!
There’s no more taking refuge in this room
And saying, “Let the King do what he will,
We, England, are no party to our shame, —
Our day will come!” Congratulate with me!
(PYM enters.)
VANE.
Pym, Strafford called this Parliament, ‘tis like —
But we’ll not have our Parliaments like those
In Ireland, Pym!
RUDYARD.
Let him stand forth, that Strafford!
One doubtful act hides far too many sins;
It can be stretched no more — and, to my mind,
Begins to drop from those it covers.
OTHER VOICES.
Pym,
Let him avow himself! No fitter time!
We wait thus long for you!
RUDYARD.
Perhaps, too long!
Since nothing but the madness of the Court
In thus unmasking its designs at once
Had saved us from betraying England. Stay —
This Parliament is Strafford’s: let us vote
Our list of grievances too black by far
To suffer talk of subsidies: or best —
That Ship-money’s disposed of long ago
By England; any vote that’s broad enough:
And then let Strafford, for the love of it,
Support his Parliament!
VANE.
And vote as well
No war’s to be with Scotland! Hear you, Pym?
We’ll vote, no War! No part nor lot in it
For England!
MANY VOICES.
Vote, no War! Stop the new levies!
No Bishop’s War! At once! When next we meet!
PYM.
Much more when next we meet!
— Friends, which of you
Since first the course of Strafford was in doubt
Has fallen the most away in soul from me?
VANE.
I sate apart, even now, under God’s eye,
Pondering the words that should denounce you, Pym,
In presence of us all, as one at league
With England’s enemy!
PYM.
You are a good
And gallant spirit, Henry! Take my hand
And say you pardon me for all the pain
Till now! Strafford is wholly ours.
MANY VOICES.
’Tis sure?
PYM.
Most sure — for Charles dissolves the Parliament
While I speak here! . . . (Great emotion in the assembly.)
. . And I must speak, friends, now!
Strafford is ours! The King detects the change,
Robert Browning - Delphi Poets Series Page 251