[Pym, Hampden, etc., go out.
Strafford. Pym, we shall meet again!
In the final talk of this scene with Carlisle, the pathos of Strafford's position is wonderfully brought out—the man who loves his King so overmuch that no perfidy on the King's part can make his resolution to serve him waver for an instant.
Lady Carlisle enters.
You here, child?
Lady Carlisle. Hush—
I know it all: hush, Strafford!
Strafford. Ah? you know?
Well. I shall make a sorry soldier, Lucy!
All knights begin their enterprise, we read,
[135]Under the best of auspices; 'tis morn,
The Lady girds his sword upon the Youth
(He's always very young)—the trumpets sound,
Cups pledge him, and, why, the King blesses him—
You need not turn a page of the romance
To learn the Dreadful Giant's fate. Indeed,
We've the fair Lady here; but she apart,—
A poor man, rarely having handled lance,
And rather old, weary, and far from sure
His Squires are not the Giant's friends. All's one:
Let us go forth!
Lady Carlisle. Go forth?
Strafford. What matters it?
We shall die gloriously—as the book says.
Lady Carlisle. To Scotland? Not to Scotland?