_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 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 ... _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 exact That service? I obey thee to the end. _Straf._ O God, I shall die first--I shall die first! SORDELLO Browning began _Sordello_ in 1837, interrupted his work to write the earlier parts of _Bells and Pomegranates_, but resumed it and completed it in 1840, when it was published by Moxon. In 1863, when reprinting the poem, Browning dedicated it as below to M. Milsand, and in his dedication wrote practically a preface to the poem. TO J. MILSAND, OF DIJON