Which props this quaking House of Privilege.
(Flood comes, winds beat, and see—the treacherous sand!)
Doubtless, if the mere putting forth an arm
Could save him, you 'd save Strafford.
Cha. And they dare
Consummate calmly this great wrong! No hope?
This ineffaceable wrong! No pity then?
Hol. No plague in store for perfidy?—Farewell!
You call me, sir— [To Lady Carlisle.] You, lady, bade me come
To save the Earl: I came, thank God for it,