That with our little left of food and wine To Bruges, to Bruges; a venture forth to Bruges. ARTEVELDE. Why yet, then, in our embers there is life! To the West Port. Five thousand will I choose MANY CITIZENS AGAIN. For Bruges for Bruges! 'tis gallantly resolved. ARTEVELDE. Then fare ye well, ye citizens of Ghent ! you Fortune has not been kind to me, good friends; If shorn of this addition, could suffice FIRST CITIZEN. Oh, Master Philip, there is none—not one. SECOND CITIZEN. Most justly and most wisely you have ruled us. ARTEVELDE. I thank you, sirs; farewell to you, once more. [He descends. The people come round him, seizing his hands, and Nay, press not on me, friends; I see ye weep, SCENE IV. The Vestibule of the Church of St. Nicholas.—At the extreme end of it, VAN RYK is seen keeping guard over the door which gives access to the church tower.—In front, CLARA appears, followed at a little distance by VAN AESWYN. CLARA. Still he pursues me; but I will not bear it. AESWYN. With your leave, I have an errand for your private ear. CLARA. My private ear! I have no private ear! AESWYN. To pardon my presumption. I beseech you CLARA. Well, what then? It is not past forgiveness; no, no, no, I freely pardon you. AESWYN. I thank you, madam; And were I but permitted to speak out All that he bade me say— CLARA. That he what he? AESWYN. The Lord of Arlon, madam. CLARA. Lord of what? AESWYN. Sir Walter, Lord of Arlon. CLARA. Oh! Sir Walter, Sir Walter D'Arlon-a good knight, they say: AESWYN. There's here a bench; If you'll be seated: for you look so pale . . . . CLARA. No, I can stand-I think-well then, I'll sit. AESWYN. The Lord of Arlon, madam, Imparted to me that of all the griefs That Fortune had dealt out to him, was none Lay lance in rest or do a feat of arms But this reflection stung him to the heart, And each success in which he might have triumph'd A man whose heart resents his handiwork, CLARA. Alas, poor D'Arlon! but I cannot help him. AESWYN. Himself thinks otherwise; he bade me say CLARA. No, never, never. AESWYN. And his aunt at Bruges, The prioress, will have you in her care CLARA. I tell thee, never. I a fugitive! Whilst Philip lives and holds the city out, AESWYN. With your leave, I would make bold to ask you if your absence Rather than grieve him. CLARA. No, sir, you mistake, Knowing nor him nor me: we two have grown Out of the self-same stock; we've shared alike The sun and shower and all that Heaven hath sent us; I've loved him much and quarrell'd with him oft, And all our loves and quarrels past are links That no adversity shall e'er dissever. |