Wait till they hunger, and not two in Ghent
Shall be of one opinion.

EARL.

In God's time

Distress shall breed dissensions as thou say'st.
We'll trust to that, and therefore have great heed
To block them out from access of provision.
The country is well wasted thereabouts,

And what they get must travel far to reach them.
We must shut up the roads from Liege and Brabant.

Enter the LORD OF ARLON.

D'ARLON.

My lord, I do beseech you make me quit

Of Occo for my guest, and give us leave

For instant combat.

EARL.

Walter, art thou mad?

What is thy quarrel with the Lord of Occo?
He is since yesterday, with thy good leave,
Our very worthy friend.

D'ARLON.

My lord, my lord,

He is since yesterday, if not before,
The very lewdest villain that was e'er
A blur and stain to knighthood.

EARL

Say'st thou so?

What are thy reasons?

D'ARLON.

With a violent hand

He carried off from Ghent a noble lady,

49

SCENE V.]

PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE.

Whose honour he attempted yesternight
Beneath my roof: and here on her behalf,
And on my own, your highness I entreat
That you give order to have lists prepared,

Where I may meet the miscreant spear to spear,

121

EARL.

Soft, my son;

I'll have no fighting for a private cause
Till Ghent be down. I cannot spare a spear,
And this were but a childish cause at best
For breaking one. The honest dames of Ghent
Have scarce deserved protection at our hands;
And when the time shall come, as come it will,
That Ghent is storm'd and sack'd, they'll have no more
Than their deserts: free quarters shall they give

To lusty knight, hot squire, and man at arms.
Shall they not, Gilbert?

GILBERT.

Sir, the dames of Ghent

Must look for worse than what your highness hints.

EARL.

Why then my Lord of Occo sinn'd not much
To seize occasion by the forelock,-ha?

GILBERT.

My lord, he did but what was just and right.

D'ARLON.

Peace, Master Gilbert Matthew—stand apart;
I seek an audience direct and free,

No craft of juggling renegade betwixt

To interpose, and toss me to and fro

The words that please him or that please him not.
My lord, you know what service I have done,
And with what voluntary heart, not bound
By duty or allegiance to bear arms,
For in my native land the while was peace.
I scarce am call'd a man, and service yet
I count by years, nor leave a winter out.
I was the nursling of your camp, my lord,

And play'd with weapons, ere my hands had strength
To lift an iron basnet to
my head.

The war-horse neigh'd to see me when my legs
His breadth of back bestrided scarce aslope,

And rarely hath it been from that time forth

That I have housed when men at arms were mounted.

This it befits not me to say, my lord,

Save for the just conclusion: I entreat
That if it square not with your purposes

To grant the combat which I claim with Occo,
I then have leave to fold my banner up,

And quit your camp.

EARL.

Come, Walter, come, you're idle;

When cause and opportunity are rife
For reasonable fighting, we might well
Dispense with all knight-errantry. Enough;
See the moon out, and if thy humour hold

It shall have way; the next that shines, I trust,
Shall cast upon the batter'd walls of Ghent
A thorough light.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. GHENT.—The platform at the top of the steeple of St. Nicholas Church.-Time, day-break.

ARTEVELDE.

There lies a sleeping city. God of dreams!

What an unreal and fantastic world

Is going on below!

Within the sweep of yon encircling wall
How many a large creation of the night,
Wide wilderness and mountain, rock and sea,
Peopled with busy transitory groups,

Finds room to rise, and never feels the crowd!
-If when the shows had left the dreamers' eyes

They should float upward visibly to mine,
How thick with apparitions were that void!
But now the blank and blind profundity
Turns my brain giddy with a sick aversion.
-I have not slept. I am to blame for that.
Long vigils, join'd with scant and meagre food,
Must needs impair that promptitude of mind,
And cheerfulness of spirit, which in him
Who leads a multitude, is past all price.
I think I could redeem an hour's repose
Out of the night that I have squander'd, yet.
The breezes, launch'd upon their early voyage,
Play with a pleasing freshness on my face.
I will enfold my cloak about my limbs