Which, when the follower steps on, down he sinks,
And then too late looks backward to the path
Of long neglected virtue.
Lady Fair. My dearest Fairfax, call not this in
Long has obedience combated with love,
Ere I would press upon your privacy:
If love has conquer'd, love may be forgiven.
The faults of tenderness (if faults they are)
E'en in offending wear the seal of pardon.
Why are you thus alone; and why thus chang'd?
Fair. My gentle lady, thoughts of deep concern,
That to the last recesses of my soul
Travel, with pain and penitence their guides,
At length have found the company they like;
Busy reflection, moping melancholy,
And silence, the sure guard that keeps the door. Lady Fair. I cannot blame your griefs, but come to share them.
Indeed the cause is just: but, good my lord,
Let not despair take hold of that brave heart,
And boast a conquest which your foes ne'er could.
If (as I long have thought) the King be wrong'd,
Seek to redress, and not lament his fortunes.
I am a woman, not design'd for war;
Yet could this hand (weak as you think its grasp),
Nerv'd by my heart's companion, resolution,
Display the royal banner in the field,
And shame the strength of manhood in this cause.
Forgive this warmth: I ne'er till now, my lord,
Gave you unask'd my thoughts; but I perceive
Your heart is wounded, and I came to heal it;
To offer you the balm of wholesome counsel,
And temper my persuasion with my love.
Fair. Thou hast been more than I could hope in
Thy beauty, thy least excellence. Thou appear'st
Like a fair tree, the glory of the plain,
The root thy honour, and the trunk thy friendship,
(That stands the rudest blast of cold adversity)
From whence branch out a thousand different boughs;
Candour, humility, and angel truth,
And every leaf a virtue. True, my love,
While I conceiv'd our liberties in danger,
I fought in their defence; but cannot bear
This bold design upon the life of Charles.
We took up arms to keep the law entire,
Not to defend its open violation.
Lady Fair. I know thy honest heart, it hates a wrong: 'Twas principle, not party, urg'd thee on
To fight their cause: but Cromwell's specious wiles Pervert the justice of thy fair designs,
And make thy virtue pander to his will.
Fair. Cromwell has art- -but still I think him
Yet in our late discourse his speech, methought,
Appear'd disjointed; and he wav'd the theme
I spoke about the safety of the king-
At parting too, his words betray'd a purpose
Beyond the limits of a commonwealth;
And talk'd of highest honours-but I hope
That my suspicions wrong him.
Lady Fair. No, my lord;
Rather increase them; keep them still alive
To arm against his black designs: discretion,
At the surmise of danger, wakes incessant ;
Nor drops the eye-lid till she sleeps in safety.
Enter a Servant.
Serv. The Duke of Richmond and a reverend bishop Desire to see you.
Fair. Wait upon them hither;
I guess at their desires, and would to Heaven
My pow'r could grant them what my wish confirms !
Lady Fair. And wherefore not, my lord? The ar-
Who can dispute your will? Command them hither, And be their threats the safety of the king.
Fair. Betray my trust! Thou canst not mean such baseness.
Should I (which much I doubt, for Cromwell's faction
Equals my pow'r, and more, among the soldiers)
Make them revolt, what would my conscience say?
'T would be a mountain crime, a molehill good.
The whiteness of my fair design to Charles,
Spread o'er the visage of the means that gave it,
Like thinnest lawn upon an Æthiop face,
Would cover, not conceal the blackness. No, my love,
Virtue and baseness never meet together.
Enter Bishop JUXON and Duke of RICHMOND.
Juxon. A mournful errand, good my lord of Fairfax,
Makes us thus rude. My gentle lady, stay ;-
Your voice will help the music of our plaint,
And swell the notes to moving melody:
Ill-fated Charles, deserted as he is,
Lives in your fair report (or fame has err'd);
Join in our concert, as you are next his heart,
You know to touch the string that sounds to pity.
Fair. My lords, I guess your purpose, and assure.
If my persuasion or my wish avail,
Charles feels no stroke till nature gives the blow.
Long may the fruit of health adorn the tree,
And ripen with his years in warmer times!
Rich. 'Tis truly spoke, my lord, and worthy Fairfax, Whom I have still consider'd in this light; As nobly just, and but at worst misled.
Juxon. How would this man adorn the royal cause, Who makes rebellion wear the face of virtue!
How I am pleas'd to find you feel this woe,
And strive for its prevention-let these speak
[Weeps.
These eyes must else have known the dismal office
To see the widow's and the orphan's sorrows;
Complaint had been my language, care my bed,
And contemplation my uneasy pillow.
Now by your hopes of mercy plead this cause;
Know it a labour that will pay itself,
E'en in this world-and when you mount above,
You will behold it of so vast a value,
It will outweigh th' offences of your life.
Fair. Without this intercession, good my lord,
I had done all within my feeble power;
Yet think what outcries din the parliament,
How many zealots call aloud for justice!
Then think what you may hope, and what not fear.
Lady Fair. No matter, Fairfax; 'tis a virtuous cause,
And Heaven will bless the purpose with success.
Juxon. There mercy spoke, and in her softest voice:
And Heaven, I doubt not, signs the prophecy.
Crom. Indeed! does Fairfax keep such company? Shame on his pitying heart! his soul's unmann'd, His resolution dwindled to a girl's:
Now, in the name of fight, is this the man
Whom armies fled from, and whom conquest lov'di Behold him now crept to a private corner,
Counting out tears with priests and women. [Aside.
Fair. See
Where Cromwell comes; I will once more assail him,
And be yourselves the witness of his answer.
Good Cromwell, welcome! And let my petition,
Join'd with these lords, prevail upon your pity;
Let Charles have life: is that so hard a boon?
In lieu of three fair kingdoms, give him life.
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