Up to that mercy which I tell you of— That mercy which your mariners proved-which steep'd Courtray and Ypres, Grammont, Bruges, in blood! Three hundred citizens,—a secret list— No man knows who-not one can say he's safe- May whisper him to death-and hark-look to it! [To GRUTT and BETTE. You are the pickers and the choosers here, Three hundred citizens to certain death? Ho! Van den Bosch! have at these traitors-ha [Stabs GRUTT who falls. VAN DEN BOSCH. Die, treasonable dog-is that enough? Down, felon, and plot treacheries in hell. [Stabs BETTE. [The White-Hoods draw their swords, with loud cries of 'Treason,' 'Artevelde,' 'Ghent,' and 'The Chaperons Blancs.' A citizen of the other party, who in the former part of the scene had unfurled the Earl's banner, now throws it down and flies; several others are following him, and the Aldermen and Deans, some of whom had been dropping off towards the end of Artevelde's speech, now quit the platform with precipitation. VAN AESWYN is crossed by VAN DEN BOSCH. Die thou, too, traitor. VAN DEN BOSCH. [Aiming a blow at him. Up with your weapons, White-Hoods; no more blood. Let no more blood be spilt on pain of death. And suffer none to plunder or molest him. Haste, Van den Bosch! by Heav'n they run like lizards! VAN DEN BOSCH. That is not to my mind; but what of that? ARTEVELDE. Well, Thou to thy errand then, and I myself Will go from street to street through all the town, To reassure the citizens; that done I'll meet thee here again. Form, White-Hoods, form: [The White-Hoods, by whose shouts of Artevelde for Ghent' the ACT III. SCENE I.-Night. A Wood in the vicinity of Bruges. The LORD OF Occo and Followers. OCCO. No more than half a league to Bruges? then halt, [TO VAN AESWYN, who enters. Where is the lady? AESWYN. They've dropp'd behind some furlong with the litter. OCCO. Keep thou beside her, lest she should prevail After we pass the gates but men of mine, SCENE II.-A Banquetting Hall in the Stadt-house at Bruges. -Tables are spread, and the Earl of Flanders, the HASE OF FLANDERS, with several Lords, Knights, and followers of the EARL, are entertained by the Mayor of Bruges and the Aldermen. EARL. Sir Mayor, we thank you; 'tis a royal feast. MAYOR. My gracious lord, the supper is but poor; And yet the most we can; your humble hosts, Can but purvey your highness what they have, ALDERMAN. True indeed. Yet if your highness please to cast it up, A thousand florins MAYOR. Hold thy peace, Van Holst; The minstrels twang their cat-gut. EARL (aside to the HASE). In good time. If aught could make me cast my supper up, 'Twere to taste further of their courtesies. Soho, sir minstrel! what hast got to sing! VAN HOLST. That matter has been cared for, please your highness; Trump'd up as 'twere extempore for the nonce; THE MINSTREL SINGS. The little bird sat on the greenwood tree, And the sun was as bright as bright could be; The leaf was broad, the shade was deep, The little bird sang, 'Sir Lion arise, For I hear with my ears and I see with my eyes, From his lair the Lion of Flanders rose, And he shook his mane and toss'd up his nose; 'For a little bird sang and I dream'd beside That the people of Ghent were puff'd up with pride; And was fast asleep, and they trod on my tail.' Ere a leaf was fallen the lion he went, The little bird sat on the bush so bare, And dropp'd it down on the lion's head. Sir Lion awake, and put out your claws, |