VAN MUCK.

He has finish'd

His daily rounds, and will be here anon.

SIR FLEUREANT.

Name me a place of meeting.

VAN MUCK.

The west dyke,

Behind the sutler Merlick's tent.

SIR FLEUREANT.

Do thou

And Kortz, and Bulsen, at the hour of nine,

Be there to take my orders.
And be not seen till then.

Get thee gone,

Go this way out,

That so the Regent meet thee not.

[Exit VAN MUCK.

That seed

Is sown, but whether I shall reap the fruits,

Is yet in Artevelde's arbitrement.

Let him comply, and those three hens shall meet
To hatch an addle egg.

HERALD.

'Tis more than time

That I were fairly on the road to France.

You're pushing on apace.

SIR FLEUREANT.

Our thrift lies there.

Spare time, spend gold, and so you win the day!

'For strongest castle, tower, and town,

The golden bullet beateth down!'

Enter VAN ARTEVELDE.

ARTEVELDE.

You are equipp'd, I see, for taking horse;

[Trumpets again.

I

pray you

have Sir Charles of France inform'd

It was your diligence with such speed dismiss'd you, And not my lack of hospitality.

HERALD.

My lord, we surely shall report in France
That we were well and bounteously entreated.
Thankfully now, my lord, I take my leave:
Sir Fleureant follows, and ere night will reach
The hostel where we rest.

ARTEVELDE.

[Exit HERALD.

You are not, I will hope, so much in haste?

SIR FLEUREANT.

My lord, I tarry but an hour behind,

And not for idleness. My lord, I'm charged
With a strange mission, as to you 'twill seem,
But of great moment, from his grace of Bourbon.

ARTEVELDE.

Sir, I attend; his grace has all my ears.

What would he?

SIR FLEUREANT.

He has voices more than ten

In the king's council, and as they may speak
Touching this war, 'twill likely be resolved.
Now he is not implacably, as some,
Envenom'd, and if justice were but done him
He might he pacified, and turn the course
Of these precipitate counsels.

ARTEVELDE.

By mine honour,

If there be justice I can render him,

He should receive it from my ready hands,

Although his voice in council were as small
As a dog-whistle. What may be his grief?

SIR FLEUREANT.

My lord, he sent you letters that pourtray'd
His grief in all its blackness. To be short,
He wants his paramour; the damsel fair
Whom you surprised, sojourning at the court
Of Louis Mâle, the day that Bruges was taken.

ARTEVELDE.

Sir, he's thrice welcome to his paramour;
I never have withheld her.

SIR FLEUREANT.

Then to me,

A servant of the prince, 'tis his desire
She be consign'd, to take her to the palace
At Senlis.

ARTEVELDE.

To the hands of whom she will

I yield the lady, to go where she will,

Were it to the palace of the Prince of Darkness. But at the lady's bidding it must be,

Not at the Prince's.

SIR FLEUREANT.

Do I learn from this

The lady is reluctant?

ARTEVELDE.

By no means.

The dangers of the journey have deterr'd her
From taking my safe conduct heretofore,
When, at the instance of the Duke of Bourbon,
I offer'd it; but, having come thus far

Toward the frontier, she may travel hence

In your protection safely.

SIR FLEUREANT.

Her pleasure from herself?

May I learn

ARTEVELDE.

I'll name your wish

To see her, and she doubtless will comply.

Attendance here!

Enter an Attendant.

Apprise the foreign lady,

That with her leave, at her convenient leisure,
I will entreat admittance for some words

SCENE III.—A Pavilion richly hung and furnished.
ELENA and her Attendant CECILE.

ELENA.

Art thou not weary of the camp, Cecile?

CECILE.

Oh no, my lady, it is always stirring;

There is good sport upon the market-days,
And women are much made of.

ELENA.

Well, I am.

Or rather I am weary of myself,

And carry dulness with me as the wind
Carries the cloud, and wheresoe'er I go,
An atmosphere of darkness and of storm
Girdles me round. I wish that I were dead.

CECILE.

For shame, my lady! you that are so young
And beautiful, with all the world before you:
It is a sin to be so discontent.

ELENA.

Give me my lute, and I will answer that.

(She sings.)

Down lay in a nook my lady's brach,

And said my feet are sore,

I cannot follow with the pack

A-hunting of the boar.

And though the horn sounds never so clear

With the hounds in loud uproar,

Yet I must stop and lie down here,
Because my feet are sore.

The huntsman when he heard the same,

What answer did he give?

The dog that's lame is much to blame,

He is not fit to live.

Lo! some one comes.

Enter an Attendant.

ATTENDANT.

The Regent, madam, would attend your leisure
For some few moments' private conversation,
If it might please you to admit him.

ELENA.

Surely;

Acquaint him that I wait upon his pleasure.

[Exit Attendant.

What can he want! he never ask'd before