Chapter XXXII

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