And I am useful,

too; he'll tell you that;

We Arteveldes were made for times like these;
The Deacon of the Mariners said well

That we are of such canvas as they use

To make storm-stay-sails. I have much in charge,
And I'll stand by him and abide the worst.

AESWYN.

Then must I tell Sir Walter that you never

CLARA.

Alas, poor D'Arlon! did I then say 'never?'
It is a most unkindly sounding word.

Tell him to ask me when the siege is raised.
But then he shall not need; he can come hither.
But tell him—of your knowledge, not from me-
The woman could not be of nature's making
Whom, being kind, her misery made not kinder.

AESWYN.

The thought of that may solace him. Farewell.

Farewell.

CLARA.

I mount the tower to look abroad.

After your conference at noon, they say,
My brother arm'd himself and bade his horse
Be ready harness'd in his mail complete;

And though you keep his secret, I surmise

There's something may be seen from this church tower.

AESWYN.

Nothing to come from Bruges.

CLARA.

But yet I'll look.

[She approaches the door of the Tower, and perceives VAN RYK, who

plants himself before her.

VAN RYK.

You cannot pass, my lady.

CLARA.

How! not pass?

VAN RYK.

The door is lock'd; your brother keeps the key: And I am station'd here with strict command

To suffer none to pass.

CLARA.

How could they pass,

If what thou say'st be true? thou hast the key.

VAN RYK.

Upon my faith I have it not, my lady.

CLARA.

A courteous usage for a lady this!

But hither comes my prince of spies, the Page, To tell what's doing in the market-place.

Enter Page.

PAGE.

Here is a brave adventure! here's a feat!

Here is a glorious enterprise afoot!

CLARA.

What is it? tell us true.

PAGE.

Illustrious lady!

The name of Artevelde shall live for ever!
For Master Philip leads five thousand men
This very night to storm the gates of Bruges.

There's cause for Ghent to tremble or rejoice,
And liberty for me; if Philip goes

I have no business here.

AESWYN.

Most surely none;

And you will now betake yourself to Bruges?

CLARA.

Nay, nay, sir, not so fast; gain Philip first,
And then come back to me and take your chance.

[Exeunt CLARA, VAN AESWYN, and Page.

Enter VAN ARTEVELDE, who advances to the door of the Tower where VAN RYK is stationed.

ARTEVELDE.

How fares our friend within? set ope the door.

VAN RYK.

Oh, Sir! you must not enter; he is mad.
I would not give a denier for the life
Of any that should enter now; he's arm'd,
And rages like a man possess'd by devils.

ARTEVELDE.

Whence tak'st thou that conclusion?

VAN RYK.

For three hours

He strove and shouted as though fifty fiends
Were doing battle on the narrow stair:
He flung his body with such desperate force
Against the door, that I was much in doubt
Whether the triple bars had strength to hold it.
Then-God be merciful! the oaths and curses!
Faster they came than I could tell my beads.

We must be friends again. His aid is wanted.

VAN RYK.

He will assault you ere a word be spoken.

ARTEVELDE.

He is a hasty man; but we must meet.

For mercy's sake forbear. Should you go in,
Or you or he will ne'er come out alive.

ARTEVELDE.

Nay, nay, thou know'st not with what winning ways
I can sleek down his wrath. Stand fast below

I charge thee, and let no intrusive step
Trouble my conference with Van Den Bosch.

the

SCENE V.-The Platform at the top of the Steeple.—As in the First Scene in this Act.

VAN ARTEVELDE, and VAN DEN BOSCH.

ARTEVELDE.

He has been drunk with anger, and he sleeps.
Lest he be not the soberer for his doze

I shall do well to strip him of his weapons.
Come, courtier, from thy house-come from thy case,
Thou smooth and shining dangler by the side
Of them that put thee to a deadly use:

Thou art dismiss'd.

[He lays aside the dagger.

And come thou likewise forth, Thou flashing flourisher in the battle field; Gaudy and senseless tool of sovereignty, Up to thy shoulders thou shalt reek in blood, And 'tis but wiping thee to make thee clean, So poor a thing art thou !-there-get thee gone— [He lays aside the sword.

Now that he's stingless I may stir him up.

Ho! Van Den Bosch! arouse thee; what, thou sleep'st; Why, here's a sluggard !—up, thou lubberly sot!

Get thee afoot; is this a time to sleep?

Up, ere I prod thee with my sword-up, slug!
Up, drowsy clod-why, now I think thou wak'st.

VAN DEN BOSCH.

What noisy villain's this?-Van Artevelde!

ARTEVELDE.

Nay, never grope and fumble for thy weapons;
They are convey'd away.