_Alb._ This noble man Wished much to say a word of grace for me And his forgiven son. Alas, black death Has stolen the balm that might have eased our way Into your heart. _Hen._ Fear not, my lords. I'll trust you, Even as he wished. [_Kneels by bed_] O, Pembroke, couldst thou leave me? * * * * * [_Curtain_] SCENE 2. _Before Dover castle. Night. Hubert de Burgh walking and listening._ _Hub._ But forty ships! But forty slit-sailed drabs Of storm and watery danger to meet all France Fresh-winged upon the sea! And yet no word Nor stir of help. Methinks were I the king, Or Pembroke with his power in my mouth, Each English road should be ablaze to-night With swift flint-striking hoofs. Now to our shore Puffs up the wave may prove oblivion's maw, And drink these Dover cliffs as they were sands, Yet England sleeps, with one lone heart at watch. [_Sound of horse approaching_] Nay, two, for Roland comes. [_Enter Roland de Born, dismounted_] _Rol._ You, Hubert? _Hub._ Ay. You bring no aid? _Rol._ The king is powerless. Pembroke is dead. The barons to covert slink, Saying their loyalty binds them to fight No farther than the shore. The bishops smirk Beneath their mitres, roll their eyes and cry "God and great Rome, deliver us!" which means Deliver us to Louis, king of monks And darling of the pope. _Hub._ And Albemarle? _Rol._ Stands by the king, and ready with his men To meet the foe on land, but not a soul Will send to sea. _Hub._ Dissembler! Well he knows A victory on the sea means England lost, So many traitor hearts will league with France And sell their country for one castle more. _Rol._ What now? We've little time. 'Tis almost day. The moon is down, and the raw, rising air Sucks in approaching light. What must be done? _Hub._ The Cinque Ports yield me forty ships. With these I'll meet Le Moine. _Rol._ O, Hubert, Hubert! _Hub._ Ay, My men are all aboard and waiting me. The garrison I leave to you. Hold it For honor and the king, nor yield to save So poor a thing as my unlucky head Should I go foul at sea. You'll be the first The victors will besiege. _Rol._ My friend! _Hub._ Tut, man, The sea's a good safe bed. Come in. Some wine Will take the night-chill from your blood. In, in! [_Exeunt. Curtain_] SCENE 3. _Within the castle. Stephen, Baldur, Godric, and other soldiers talking and drinking._