Xxxii

"Out of defeat escaped some scant three score Of all his followers. And night and day We fled; and while the Roundheads pressed us sore, And in our road, good as a fortress, lay The Moated Manse,--where our three-score or more Might well hold out,--I pointed them the way. And we are come, amid its wrecks to end The crime begun here.--Thou must go, my friend!