And burn in effigy my lady's steward.
For us and for one supper 'twill suffice;
But he's a skilful man at splitting hairs
That can make two on't.

Whose feast they celebrate to-night at Bruges,
May steep them well in wine. If Ukenheim
Get undiscover'd in, we shall not miss
To profit by his skill.

VAN DEN BOSCH.

We'll hope the best ;

But if there be a knave in power unhang'd,
And in his head a grain of sense undrown'd,
He'll be their caution not to-

ARTEVELDE.

Van den Bosch,

Talk we of battle and survey the field,
For I will fight. Let stakes be driven in
Amongst the rushes at the nether end
Of this morass. Van Ryk, look thou to that.
And thou, Van Muck, unload the victual here;
Then tilt the waggons up behind the stakes,

And pierce them for cross-bows. A horse for me,
That I may know the ground. And now, friends all,
Let's to our charges. Ere the red sun sink

Behind yon city, Ghent is lost or saved.

M

SCENE II.-An open tent erected for public entertainment in the Market-place of Bruges.-Boisterous songs, and other sounds of riot and jollity are heard on all sides. Within the tent a miscellaneous company are drinking, and amongst them is UKENHEIM, in the dress of a Mariner of Bruges.

UKENHEIM.

I pray you pledge me in this, to our better acquaintance.

At your service, sir.

Is not this the right

LUNYZ.

What say'st thou, Jan Trickle? way? Is not this the narrow

road? Knew'st thou ever a Saint's day more seemly celebrated? Dost see what a devotion there is to it!

TRICKLE.

I see very many righteous gentlemen very drunk. But my wife says, were they at church it should be more seemly.

KROOLKHUYS.

Bah! didst ever know a man's wife that liked him to be drinking without her to help?

TRICKLE.

Mine is a rare helpmate.

LUNYZ.

Let the Church speak. Father Swillen, is not this as it should be?

FATHER SWILLEN.

My son, and worthy burgesses, and beloved brethren! Of the present solemnity, I will deliver my opinion according to the canons. Wine is to be used cum abstinentiâ et temperantiâ, for the recovery of the sick,

the consolation of the dying, and the healing of a wounded spirit. It is also to be used in honour of our Lady of Bolayne on this the day of her festival. But the presence of a priest is needful herein, for the preventing of abuses, and the showing of a proper example.

[Drinks.

TACKENHAM (advancing from the farther end of the tent). Father Swillen-friend, if I knocked you down I ask your pardon-Father Swillen- -sirs, give me place, for I must see the Father Father Swillen, I look upon you to be one man of a thousand-I will go on my knees to you-I look upon you to be the oracle of God—I look upon you to be the invisible oracle of God-for there you are, and I see you not.—I can stand, I say I can stand-but here I kneel-down, and I will not rise unless you stretch forth your hand to me and raise me up-and this is the view I take of our duties as Christian men-all which is submitted to your better judgment, and I would that all men paid their dues to the Church.

FATHER SWILLEN.

God requite you, my son! for their salvation,-for their salvation-nothing else.

LUNYZ (looking out into the Market-place).

Here is a minstrel twiddles with the strings of his cithern. Now we shall hear a song.

THE FOLLOWING SONG IS SUNG TO A VULGAR TUNE.

Who mounts the merry-go-round with me,

Who mounts the merry-go-round?

'Tis I, I, I,—and who be ye

That would mount the merry-go-round?

A blacksmith I,-spearheads as good

As e'er from Bordeaux came,

I've made and would in Ghentsmen's blood
Be bold to dip the same.

Who mounts the merry-go-round with me,
Who mounts the merry-go-round?

'Tis I, I, I,-and who may'st be,

That would mount the merry-go-round?

A cutler I,-as true a blade

As ever Ebro steel'd

Is this I've made, nor will't be stay'd
By any Ghentsman's shield.

Who mounts the merry-go-round with me,

Who mounts the merry-go-round?

'Tis I, I, I,-and now let us see

Who mounts the merry-go-round.

A barber I,-and well appear'd
My handicraft, for when

A Ghentsman's beard I shortly shear'd,

It never grew again.

Who mounts the merry-go-round with me,
Who mounts the merry-go-round?

'Tis I, I, I, and a priest was he

That would mount the merry-go-round.

A Ghentsman of his wounds lay sick,

And shall I be saved? he cried;

I gave him a kick, bade him ask old Nick,
And he should be satisfied.

KROOLKHUYS.

I'faith he sings like a nightingale. No more thank

you, I cannot—cannot . . .

well, if I must . . .

· [drinks]. 'Tis a charming lullaby, and the sentiment very tender Let us all do as we would be done by,

and soothing.

God bless us!

[Falls asleep.

[Suddenly is heard from the Market-place a loud cry of To arms! To arms!'

UKENHEIM (starting up and drawing his sword).

To arms? what! the men of Ghent come to us? What! the scarecrows from Ghent! To arms! to arms! out and down with them! to arms! to arms!

KROOLKHUYS (waking).

Why how is this? the men of Ghent! what ho! give me my coat of proof.

UKENHEIM.

Let cowards stay behind.

To arms! to arms!

[They rush out confusedly. TACKENHAM creeps from under the table, where he had remained in a reclining posture.

TACKENHAM.

To arms! I look upon Father Swillen to be an oracle, and it were to be wished that all men paid the Church her dues.

SCENE III.-The Palace.

THE LORD OF Occo and GILBERT MATTHEW.

GILBERT.

His Highness will be here anon.

Sir Guy,

Freely accept the combat for the morrow.

Count on my speed. There's not a man in Bruges
Who has outlived the day I wish'd him dead.

The threads of many destinies I hold,
Unknown to them they bind for life or death,
And I am punctual as the planet stars.
A winter's night, as long as nights are now,
Is worth an age.

OCCO.

One doubt detains me still.

The earl, if ever it were known, would—

GILBERT.

'Tis over, that. He loves him now no more.

Hark!