Which waits for him. And saying this, I feel
No bitterer pang than first I felt, the hour
I swore that Wentworth might leave us, but I
Would never leave him: I do leave him now.
I render up my charge (be witness, God!)
To England who imposed it. I have done
Her bidding - poorly, wrongly, — it may be,
With ill effects for I am weak, a man:
Still, I have done my best, my human best,
Not faltering for a moment. It is done.

And this said, if I say yes, I will say
I never loved but one man David not
More Jonathan! Even thus, I love him now:
And look for my chief portion in that world
Where great hearts led astray are turned again,
(Soon it may be, and, certes, will be soon:
My mission over, I shall not live long.) -
Ay, here I know I talk - I dare and must,
Of England, and her great reward, as all
I look for there; but in my inmost heart,
Believe, I think of stealing quite away
To walk once more with Wentworth

friend

my youth's

Purged from all error, gloriously renewed,
And Eliot shall not blame us. Then indeed
This is no meeting, Wentworth! Tears increase
Too hot. A thin mist — is it blood?-enwraps
The face I loved once. Then, the meeting be!

Straf. I have loved England too; we'll meet then, Pym;

As well die now! Youth is the only time
To think and to decide on a great course:
Manhood with action follows; but 'tis dreary

To have to alter our whole life in age –

-

The time past, the strength gone! As well die now. When we meet, Pym, I'd be set right not now! Best die. Then if there's any fault, fault too

Dies, smothered up.

Poor gray old little Laud

And there's no one left.

May dream his dream out of a perfect Church,
In some blind corner.

I trust the King now wholly to you, Pym!
And yet, I know not: I shall not be there:
Friends fail - if he have any. And he's weak,
And loves the Queen, and-O, my fate is nothing-
Nothing! But not that awful head — not that!

Pym. If England shall declare such will to me Straf. No, not for England now, not for Heaven

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!

CAVALIER TUNES

ROBERT BROWNING

THE death of Strafford did not appease the reformers, nor yet the king's reluctant surrender of important powers and privileges. Pym and his fellows suspected, and with good reason, the sincerity of the royal promises, while Charles's friends believed that the Parliamentarians were meditating revolution. Both factions prepared for the inevitable struggle. The king's standard was set up at Nottingham Castle (August, 1642), and many lords and gentlemen gathered there to his support. The country districts of the north and west were usually loyal. Parliament was intrenched in London, and could count on aid from the towns of the east and south. For four years the land was devastated by the contending armies.

I

MARCHING ALONG

Kentish Sir Byng stood for his King,
Bidding the crop-headed Parliament swing:

And, pressing a troop unable to stoop

And see the rogues flourish and honest folk droop,
Marched them along, fifty-score strong,
Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song.

God for King Charles! Pym and such carles

To the Devil that prompts 'em their treasonous parles!

Cavaliers, up! Lips from the cup,

Hands from the pasty, nor bite take nor sup

Till you're

(Chorus) - Marching along, fifty-score strong,

Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song.

Hampden to hell, and his obsequies' knell.

Serve Hazelrig, Fiennes, and young Harry as well!
England, good cheer! Rupert is near!
Kentish and loyalists, keep we not here,

(Chorus) — Marching along, fifty-score strong,

Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song?

Then, God for King Charles! Pym and his snarls
To the Devil that pricks on such pestilent carles!
Hold by the right, you double your might;
So, onward to Nottingham, fresh for the fight,
(Chorus)-March we along, fifty-score strong,
Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song!

II

GIVE A ROUSE

King Charles, and who'll do him right now?
King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now?
Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now,
King Charles!

Who gave me the goods that went since? Who raised me the house that sank once? Who helped me to gold I spent since? Who found me in wine you drank once? (Chorus) — King Charles, and who'll do him right now? King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now? Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now, King Charles!

III

BOOT AND SADDLE

Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!
Rescue my castle before the hot day
Brightens to blue from its silvery gray.

(Chorus) — Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!
Ride past the suburbs, asleep as you'd say;
Many's the friend there, will listen and pray,
"God's luck to gallants that strike up the lay
(Chorus) — Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!"

Forty miles off, like a roebuck at bay,
Flouts Castle Brancepeth the Roundheads' array:
Who laughs, "Good fellows ere this, by my fay,

(Chorus)-Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!"

Who? My wife Gertrude; that, honest and gay,
Laughs when you talk of surrendering, "Nay!
I've better counsellors; what counsel they?
(Chorus)-Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!"

TO ALTHEA FROM PRISON

RICHARD LOVELACE

RICHARD LOVELACE was a poet and a great favorite at the court of Charles I. As the differences between the king and the Parliament grew more serious, Lovelace threw himself heart and soul into his royal master's cause. In April, 1642, he undertook to present to the House of Commons a petition in the king's behalf from the county of Kent. The document was received with contempt, burned by the common hangman, and Lovelace was thrown into the Gatehouse