SCENE vm PART FIRST
Ah, stands it thus ? . . . The name of his disease is—Austerlitz ! His brow's inscription has been Austerlitz From that dire morning in the month just past When tongues of rumour twanged the word across From its hid nook on the Moravian plains,
And yet he might have borne it, had the weight
Of governmental shackles been unclasped,
Even partly, from his limbs last Lammastide,
When that despairing journey to the King
At Gloucester Lodge by Wessex shore was made
To beg such. But relief the King refused.
" Why want you Fox? What—Grenville and his
He harped. " You are sufficient without these— Rather than Fox, why, give me civil war!" And fibre that would rather snap than shrink Held out no longer. Now the upshot nears.
LADY HESTER STANHOPE turns her head and comes forward.
I am grateful you are here again, good friend! He's sleeping some light seconds ; but once more Has asked for tidings of Lord Harrowby, And murmured of his mission to Berlin As Europe's haggard hope; if, sure, it be That any hope remain!
There's no news yet.—
These several days while I have been sitting by him He has inquired the quarter of the wind, And where that moment stood the stable-cock.