SIR FLEUREANT.

Why, what?-what suit?

YEOMAN.

"Tis but for justice, sir; I crave but justice.

SIR FLEUREANT.

Hast thou the price of justice in thy pocket?

Nay, sir, I am poor.

YEOMAN.

SIR FLEUREANT.

Poor, and want justice?-where was thy mother's thrift
To bring thee up in such a poor estate
And yet to lack such dainties! Say wherein

Would'st thou be justified? who is't hath wrong'd thee?

YEOMAN.

Last Wednesday, sir, a troop of Flemings, led
By fierce Frans Ackerman, the frontier pass'd
And burn'd my homestead, ravaged all my fields,
And did sore havoc in the realm of France.

Depart ye, sirs; his grace is with the king;
He bids you all depart and come to-morrow;
To-day his grace hath business with the king,
And will not be molested. Clear the chamber.
Their graces and the king are coming hither,
And would be private ;-prithee, sir, depart.

[To the Yeoman, who lingers.

SIR FLEUREANT.

Take thou thy grievance to the outer hall,

But go no further hence. Soft, Master Usher;
My friend shall have an audience of the duke.
Look he be carefully bestow'd without
Till he be call'd. He is an injured man;

An injured man, and being so, yet welcome.
The grief he hath is worth its weight in gold.
Bestow him carefully without.

USHER.

This way.

[Exit, with the Yeoman.

Enter the DUKES of BURGUNDY and BOURBON.

BURGUNDY.

Good morrow, Flurry. Not on us, good brother.
I grant you were we rashly to make war,
No council summon'd, no estates convened,
Then aught that should unhappily ensue

Might chance be charged on us, as natural guides,

And so reputed, of the youthful king.

But back'd by all the council,-yea, by all,

For I'll be warranty no voice dissents,—
Back'd by the council, wherein weighty reasons
Shall be well urged-

BOURBON.

Ay, brother, there it is!

That you have reasons of your own none doubts,
And Jacques Bonhomme will be bold to say
That reasons which are rank in Burgundy
Have been transplanted to the soil of France,
That fits them not.

BURGUNDY.

In Jacques Bonhomme's throat

I'll tell him that he slanders me and lies.
No soil in Christendom but fits my reasons;
No soil where virtue, chivalry, and honour
Are fed and flourish, but shall fit them well.
When honour and nobility fall prone

In Flanders, think you they stand fast in France?
Or losing ground in France, have hope elsewhere?
This by no narrow bound is circumscribed:
It is the cause of chivalry at large.

Though heir to Flanders I am Frenchman born,
And nearer have at heart the weal of France
Than my far off inheritance. Come, come;
Lay we before the council the sad truth
Of these distractions that so rock the realm,—
Paris possess'd by Nicholas le Flamand
Where law's a nothing and the king a name ;
Armies with mallets but beginning there,

And gathering like the snow-wreaths in a storm
Before a man hath time to get him housed,
At Chalons on the Marne, Champagne, Beauvoisin,
At Orleans, at Rheims, at Blois, and Rouen,
And every reach of road from Paris south:
Then point we to the north, where Artevelde
Wields at his single will the Flemish force,
Five hundred thousand swords; and ask what fate
Awaits our France, if those with these unite,
Bold villains both, and ripe for riving down

All royalty, thereafter or therewith

Nobility! Then strike whiles yet apart
Each single foe.

As fair as false.

BOURBON.

But Philip speaks us fair.

BURGUNDY.

SIR FLEUREANT.

My lords, there's proof of that

Here close at hand; a yeoman from Tournesis,
But now arrived with news of ravage done

On the French frontier.

BURGUNDY.

There, good brother, there!

There's Flemish friendship, Flemish love of peace! Shall we make nought of this?

Enter the KING with a Hawk on his hand.

BURGUNDY.

How now, my royal cousin, have you done?

Can you repeat the speech?

KING.

O yes, good uncle.

'Right noble our liege councillors all, We greet you! We have required your-'

BURGUNDY.

Presence here this day.

KING.

'We have required your presence here this day
On matters of high import, which surcharge
Our royal mind, that still affects the weal
Of our beloved lieges. Much to peace
Our tender years incline us, but-but—but—'
I'll fly my hawk, good uncle, now; to-morrow
I'll say
the rest. Come, Jerry, Jerry, Jerry!
He is a Marzarolt, uncle, just reclaim'd;
The best in France for flying at the fur.
Whew! Jerry, Jerry, Jerry!

BURGUNDY.

Cousin, stay.

Enter SIR FLEUREANT with the Yeoman.

Here is a worthy yeoman from Tournesis,

Who hath a tale to tell of

ravage

done

Upon the realm of France.

KING.

A yeoman, uncle?

Here, worthy yeoman, you shall kiss our hand.

Get off there, Jerry.

[The Yeoman kneels and kisses his hand.

BOURBON.

Now, sir, from what place

In France or Flanders, com'st thou?

YEOMAN.

Please your highness,

'Twas a small holding from my lord of Vergues

Close to the liberties of Fontenoy.

This side the bourn?

BOURBON.