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And she will tell you it is no such man.
Why go you not?


My mind is not at ease. Yet I am going—to my chamber now, Where let me own an undisturb'd half hour Of rumination ;—afterward to her.

SCENE VIII.The Market-place in front of the Stadt-House. Enter two of VAN DEN Bosch's Officers, dragging a Burgher

between them, and followed by an Executioner with an axe, and a crowd of Citizens. A scaffold is seen at a distance.


Where hast thou put it?


What? Put what-put what?


A few last words—where is it?


Mercy! what?


Oh, very well! Come, clap his thumb in a winch.


No need of that what is it that




Van Borselen's head. 'Twas sticking on that spike
At nine last night. Who took it thence but thou ?


I never touch'd it.


Thou art next of kin, And rightfully shouldst fill his vacancy.


Thy head to his stands in a just succession.
Besides, they are as like as are two cherries.
Bring him away.


Friend with the axe, come on.

[Exeunt all but two Citizens.


When will this end ?


When Van den Bosch ...


Hush! Hush!

SCENE IX.-The Entrance-Hall of the House Van Merestyn.

Enter ARTEVELDE, with Attendants.


Bear thou these letters to my steward ; say
That messengers must straight proceed with them
To Grammont and elsewhere, as superscribed ;
And should mishap occur to any one
Upon the road, which is not over free,
I charge me with ten masses for his soul.
(To another) My service to the noble Lord of Occo ;
I thank him for his counsel and will weigh it.

(To the rest) I will return alone. If

any come To seek me at my house, entreat their stay.

[They withdraw, and a Waiting-Woman enters. This, if I err not, is the pretty wench That waits upon my lady. What, fair maid ! Thy mistress, having comeliness to spare, Hath given thee of it. She’s within I think, Or else wert thou a truant.


Sir, she is.


Acquaint her then that I attend her leisure.

[Exit Waiting-Woman. There is but one thing that still harks me back. To bring a cloud upon the summer day Of one so happy and so beautiful, It is a hard condition. For myself I know not that the circumstance of life In all its changes can so far afflict me As makes anticipation much worth while. But she is younger, -of a sex beside Whose spirits are to ours as flame to fire, More sudden and more perishable too; So that the gust wherewith the one is kindled Extinguishes the other. Oh she is fair! As fair as Heaven to look upon ! as fair As ever vision of the Virgin blest That weary pilgrim, resting by the fount Beneath the palm and dreaming to the tune Of flowing waters, duped his soul withal. It was permitted in my pilgrimage

To rest beside the fount beneath the tree,
Beholding there no vision, but a maid
Whose form was light and graceful as the palm,
Whose heart was pure and jocund as the fount
And spread a freshness and a verdure round.
This was permitted in my pilgrimage
And loth am I to take my staff again.
Say that I fall not in this enterprise-
Yet must my life be full of hazardous turns,
And they that house with me must ever live
In imminent peril of some evil fate.

[A pause.
Danger from foes—that is a daylight danger-
Danger from tyrants—that too is seen and known-
But envious friends and jealous multitudes....
In dusk to walk through a perpetual ambush....

[A pause again. Still for myself, I fear not bút that I, Taking what comes, leaving what leave I must, Could make a sturdy struggle through the world. But for the maid, the choice were better far To win her dear heart back again if lost, And stake it upon some less dangerous throw.

Re-enter Waiting-Woman.


My mistress, sir, so please you, takes her walk
Along the garden terrace, and desires
That you'll go forth to meet her.


For if fate
Had done its best to single out a soul
Most form'd for peaceful virtues- -ah ! I come.

SCENE X.-A Garden.


ARTEVELDE. I have some little overstaid


time. First let me plead for pardon of that trespass.


I said to Clara when the sun went down
Now if-though truly 'tis impossible-
He come not ere yon blushing cloud grows gray,
His promises are no more worth than bubbles.
And look how gray it is !


A hectic change. The smiling dawn, the laughing blue-eyed day, The graybeard eve incessantly pass on, Fast fleeting generations born of time And buried in eternity—they pass And not a day resigns its little life And enters into darkness, that can say • Lo! I was fair, and such as I have been My issue shall be. Lo! I cast abroad Such affluence of glory over earth, That what had been but goodly to the sight Was made magnificent, what had been bare Show'd forth a naked beauty-in all this Was I thus rich, and that which I possess'd To-morrow shall inherit.' False as hope ! To-morrow's heritage is cloud and storm.

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