_Lady Car._ 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 ... _Straf._ Child, your hair Is glossier than the Queen's! _Lady Car._ Is that to ask A curl of me? _Straf._ Scotland--the weary way! _Lady Car._ Stay, let me fasten it. --A rival's, Strafford? _Straf._ [_showing the George._] He hung it there: twine yours around it, child! _Lady Car._ 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. _Straf._ I shall not fail in Scotland. _Lady Car._ Prosper--if You 'll think of me sometimes! _Straf._ How think of him And not of you? of you, the lingering streak (A golden one) in my good fortune's eve. _Lady Car._ Strafford ... Well, when the eve has its last streak The night has its first star. [_She goes out._ _Straf._ That voice of hers-- You 'd think she had a heart sometimes! His voice Is soft too. Only God 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? Did I make kings? set up, the first, a man To represent the multitude, receive All love in right of them--supplant them so, Until you love the man and not the king-- The man with the mild voice and mournful eyes Which send me forth. --To breast the bloody sea That sweeps before me: with one star for guide. Night has its first, supreme, forsaken star. * * * * * ACT III SCENE I. _Opposite Westminster Hall._ Sir HENRY VANE, LORD SAVILE, LORD HOLLAND _and others of the Court._ _Sir H. Vane._ The Commons thrust you out? _Savile._ And what kept you From sharing their civility?