Wentworth. I know, I know: old Vane, too, he's one too?
[118]Go on—and he's made Secretary. Well?
Or leave them out and go straight to the charge—
The charge!
Lady Carlisle. Oh, there's no charge, no precise charge;
Only they sneer, make light of—one may say,
Nibble at what you do.
Wentworth. I know! but, Lucy,
I reckoned on you from the first!—Go on!
—Was sure could I once see this gentle friend
When I arrived, she'd throw an hour away
To help her ... what am I?
Lady Carlisle. You thought of me,
Dear Wentworth?
Wentworth. But go on! The party here!
Lady Carlisle. They do not think your Irish government
Of that surpassing value....
Wentworth. The one thing
Of value! The one service that the crown
May count on! All that keeps these very Vanes
In power, to vex me—not that they do vex,
Only it might vex some to hear that service
Decried, the sole support that's left the King!
Lady Carlisle. So the Archbishop says.
Wentworth. Ah? well, perhaps
The only hand held up in my defence
May be old Laud's! These Hollands then, these Saviles
Nibble? They nibble?—that's the very word!
Lady Carlisle. Your profit in the Customs, Bristol says,
Exceeds the due proportion: while the tax....