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Whose honour he attempted yesternight
roof: and here on her behalf,
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 ?
Sir, the dames of Ghent Must look for worse than what your highness hints.
Why then my Lord of Occo sinn'd not much
My lord, he did but what was just and right.
No craft of juggling renegade betwixt
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.
And if I live to see it
By your leave,
friends Were number'd with your foes,-or with the dead.
According to the summons, please your highness, The Lords are met in council.
I shall come. Attend me, Gilbert, when the board breaks up, And thou shalt know the issue. Come to dinner. And sirrah, tell the butler that to-day I shall drink brandy. From all use of wine I'm interdicted by a sacred vow, Till Ghent's submission free me. May't be soon!
SCENE I.—GHENT.-The platform at the top of the steeple
of St. Nicholas' Church.—Time, day-break.
There lies a sleeping city. God of dreams!
And lie where I shall front them ;-here, I think.
[He lies down. If this were over- -blessed be the calm That comes to me at last! A friend in need Is nature to us, that when all is spent, Brings slumber-bountifully-whereupon We give her sleepy welcome- -if all this Were honourably over- -Adriana
[Falls asleep, but starts up almost instantly. I heard a hoof, a horse's hoof I'll swear, Upon the road from Bruges,—or did I dream ? No! 'tis the gallop of a horse at speed.
VAN DEN BOSCH (without). What ho! Van Artevelde !
Who calls ?
VAN DEN BOSCH (entering).
'Tis I. Thou art an early riser, like myself ; Or is it that thou hast not been to bed ?
Nay, what can they be?
Be quiet; listen to the westerly wind,