Lost nothing on his lips; he'd have Pym own
A patriot could not play a purer part

Than follow in his track; they two combined

Might put down England. Well, Pym heard him out; One glance - you know Pym's eye one word was all: "You leave us, Wentworth! while your head is on,

I'll not leave you."

Hampden.
Has he left Wentworth, then ?
Has England lost him? Will you let him speak,
Or put your crude surmises in his mouth?
Away with this! Will you have Pym or Vane?
Voices. Wait Pym's arrival! Pym shall speak.
Hampden.

Let Loudon read the Parliament's report
From Edinburgh: our last hope, as Vane says,

Is in the stand it makes. Loudon!

Vane.

Silent I can be: not indifferent!

No, no!

Meanwhile

Hampden. Then each keep silence, praying God to spare

His anger, cast not England quite away

In this her visitation!

The ravaged body nor the ruined soul,

More than the winds and waves that beat his ship,
Could keep him from the King. He has not reached
Whitehall: they've hurried up a Council there

To lose no time and find him work enough.
Where's Loudon? your Scots' Parliament.

Loudon.

Holds firm:

We were about to read reports.

Pym.

The King

Great God!

Has just dissolved your Parliament.

Loudon and other Scots.

An oath-breaker! Stand by us, England, then!

Pym. The King's too sanguine; doubtless Wentworth's

here;

But still some little form might be kept up.

Hampden. Now speak, Vane! Rudyard, you had much

to say!

Hollis. The rumor's false, then..

Pym.

Ay, the Court gives out His own concerns have brought him back: I know

"Tis the King calls him. Wentworth supersedes

The tribe of Cottingtons and Hamiltons

Whose part is played; there's talk enough, by this, -
Merciful talk, the King thinks: time is now

To turn the record's last and bloody leaf
Which, chronicling a nation's great despair,
Tells they were long rebellious, and their lord
Indulgent, till, all kind expedients tried,

He drew the sword on them and reigned in peace.

Laud's laying his religion on the Scots

Was the last gentle entry: the new page

Shall run, the King thinks, "Wentworth thrust it down

At the sword's point."

We all say, friends, it is a goodly thing
To right that England. Heaven grows dark above:
Let's snatch one moment ere the thunder fall,
To say how well the English spirit comes out
Beneath it! All have done their best, indeed,

From lion Eliot, that grand Englishman,
To the least here: and who, the least one here,
When she is saved (for her redemption dawns
Dimly, most dimly, but it dawns - it dawns)
Who'd give at any price his hope away
Of being named along with the Great Men?
We would not no, we would not give that up!
Hampden. And one name shall be dearer than all names.
When children, yet unborn, are taught that name

After their fathers',

taught what matchless man

...

Pym. . . . Saved England? What if Wentworth's should be still

That name?

Rudyard and others. We have just said it, Pym! His

death

Saves her! We said it

there's no way beside!

I'll do God's bidding, Pym! They struck down Joab
And purged the land.

Vane.

No villanous striking-down!

Rudyard. No, a calm vengeance: let the whole land

rise

And shout for it. No Feltons!

Pym.

Rudyard, no!

England rejects all Feltons; most of all

Since Wentworth . . . Hampden, say the trust again

Of England in her servants

but I'll think

You know me, all of you. Then, I believe,

Spite of the past, Wentworth rejoins you, friends!

Vane and others. Wentworth? Apostate! Judas! Double

dyed

A traitor! Is it Pym, indeed

Pym.

...

Who says

Vane never knew that Wentworth, loved that man,
Was used to stroll with him, arm locked in arm,

Along the streets to see the people pass,

And read in every island-countenance

Fresh argument for God against the King, -
Never sat down, say, in the very house

Where Eliot's brow grew broad with noble thoughts,

(You've joined us, Hampden — Hollis, you as well,) And then left talking over Gracchus' death . . .

Vane. To frame, we know it well, the choicest clause In the Petition of Right: he framed such clause One month before he took at the King's hand His Northern Presidency, which that Bill Denounced.

Pym. Too true! Never more, never more
Walked we together! Most alone I went.

I have had friends all here are fast my friends
But I shall never quite forget that friend.

And yet it could not but be real in him!

You, Vane, you, Rudyard, have no right to trust
To Wentworth: but can no one hope with me?
Hampden, will Wentworth dare shed English blood
Like water?

Hampden.

Ireland is Aceldama.

Pym. Will he turn Scotland to a hunting-ground To please the King, now that he knows the King? The People or the King? and that King, Charles!

Hampden. Pym, all here know you: you'll not set your

heart

On any baseless dream. But say one deed

Of Wentworth's since he left us

...

Vane.

[Shouting without. There! he comes,

And they shout for him! Wentworth's at Whitehall,
The King embracing him, now, as we speak,
And he, to be his match in courtesies,

Taking the whole war's risk upon himself,

Now, while you tell us here how changed he is!

Hear you?

Pym.

And yet if 'tis a dream, no more,

That Wentworth chose their side, and brought the King

To love it as though Laud had loved it first,

And the Queen after; that he led their cause

-

Calm to success, and kept it spotless through,

So that our very eyes could look upon

The travail of our souls, and close content

That violence, which something mars even right
Which sanctions it, had taken off no grace

From its serene regard. Only a dream!

Hampden. We meet here to accomplish certain good By obvious means, and keep tradition up

Of free assemblages, else obsolete,

In this poor chamber: nor without effect

Has friend met friend to counsel and confirm,
As, listening to the beats of England's heart,
We spoke its wants to Scotland's prompt reply
By these her delegates. Remains alone
That word grow deed, as with God's help it shall
But with the devil's hindrance, who doubts too?
Looked we or no that tyranny should turn
Her engines of oppression to their use?
Whereof, suppose the worst be Wentworth here -
Shall we break off the tactics which succeed
In drawing out our formidablest foe,
Let bickering and disunion take their place?
Or count his presence as our conquest's proof,
And keep the old arms at their steady play?
Proceed to England's work! Fiennes, read the list!

Fiennes. Ship-money is refused or fiercely paid
In every county, save the northern parts