I spake not of.

SIR RAOUL OF RANEVAL.

Permit me, sir, the Lis

LESTOVET.

I humbly crave your pardon;
My memory is but crazy, good my lords;
It oft betrays me vilely. Sir Raoul,

I do beseech you pardon me; I deem'd
(Misled perchance by that so rife renown
Which plants you ever foremost) that your voice
Was mainly raised for speed.

SIR RAOUL OF RANEVAL.

I grant you that;

No man is more for speed, my lords, than I,
So we outrun not wisdom.

BOURBON.

Next-proceed.

LESTOVET.

My lord the admiral was next, and last
The Souldich of Sanxere; the English fleet
Expected shortly; winter distant now

But few days' journey; mallets at your backs,
These were their fruitful topics: on the last,
An't please your lordships to vouchsafe me audience,
Some tidings have I gather'd, here and there,
Which haply not unworthy of your ears

You might, when heard, pronounce.

At Paris, when the Commons and vile people
Beat in the prison doors, ye know, my lords,

That Aubriot their friend, the sometime provost,
Who lay in prison then, made good his flight
To Arc in Burgundy; from thence, I learn,
He look'd abroad, and journeying up and down,
He practised with the towns upon the Marne,
With Rheims and Chalons, Toul, and Bar-le-Duc,
With sundry villages in Vermandois,

And Brieche and Laon; so he moved the

poor

(Through help, as I believe, of something evil,

From which God shield good men!) that straight they

slew

The chatelains and farmers of the aids.

They next would raise a power and march to Paris ;

But Nicholas le Flamand bade them wait

Until the Scheldt were 'twixt the king and them,
Which shelter found, he trusted with their aid
To bring the castle of the Louvre low,
And not of Paris only, but of France
And Burgundy, to make the mean-folk lords.
This have I gather'd from the last that left
Champagne and Beauvoisin.

BOURBON.

Something of this

Reach'd me last night.

THE CONSTABLE.

I had some tidings, too.

SIR JOHN DE VIEN.

And I.

BOURBON.

I think, my lords, this matter asks

A further inquest. If the whole be true,

We were not wise in council to o'erlook it.
Let us take order so to sift the truth

That clearer-sighted we may meet to-morrow;
Till when I deem it prudent we should hang
In a free judgment.

LORD OF ST. JUST.

Till to-morrow, then.

THE CONSTABLE.

One day's delay will hurt us not.

SIR LOIS OF SANXERE.

You do not well to toss about the parchments.

Ho! tell my serving men we ride to Vis,

The constable and I. Adieu, fair sirs.

[Exeunt the King and the Lords of the Council. Manent TRISTRAM OF LESTOVET and SIR FLEUREANT OF HEURLÉE.

LESTOVET.

Go to the duke; tell him the point is carried.

SIR FLEUREANT.

But is it so ?

LESTOVET.

It is as good.

SIR FLEUREANT.

They seek

Some further knowledge.

LESTOVET.

Tut! they know it all;

They knew it ere I told them; but my mind

As touching it, they knew not of till now.

Run to the duke; pray him to keep his chamber;
Let him but stand aloof another day,

And come the next, we march upon Commines.

SCENE IV.-The Market-place at Ypres. In front, VAN WHELK, a Householder, driving the last nails into a Scaffolding erected against his House. VAN STOCKENSTROM, another, looking on. A Woman is scouring the Doorstead of the next House. At some little distance six Gallows-trees are seen, opposite the Stadt-house.

VAN WHELK.

Room for five ducats at a groat a head.

VAN STOCKENSTROM.

"Twill be a piteous spectacle! Good day, How do you, mistress?

WOMAN.

Thank you, how's yourself?

VAN STOCKENSTROM.

"Twill be a sight most piteous to behold!

A corporation hung!

WOMAN.

Alack a day!

VAN WHELK.

"Twill be a sight that never yet was seen Since Ypres was a town. A groat is cheap; A groat is very reasonable cheap.

VAN STOCKENSTROM.

The burgomaster was confess'd at seven;

He is the first.

VAN WHELK.

Van Rosendael the next,

And then comes Drimmelen, Verstolken then,
And Goswin Hex, and Breero, and De Vry.

VAN STOCKENSTROM.

This ancient corporation!

WOMAN.

Wo's the day!

Poor gentlemen! alas, they did not think,
Nor no man else, the Regent would take life
So hastily.

VAN WHELK.

The like was never seen,

Nor ever will be after.

VAN STOCKENSTROM.

Hold you there;