Will ye bestow this power on me? if so, Shout Artevelde,' and ye may add to that, Captain of Ghent,'—if not, go straightway home. [All shout' Artevelde, Captain of Ghent !' ARTEVELDE. So be it. Now listen to your Captain's first command. On each cross accident, here or without, To cry aloud for peace. This is most hurtful. It much unsettles brave men's minds, disturbs That whoso shall but talk of terms of peace BURGESSES. He shall, he shall, he shall. We'll kill the slave outright. ARTEVELDE. If No: mark me further. any citizen shall slay another Without my warranty by word or sign, Although that slayer be as true as steel, This other treacherous as Iscariot's self, The punishment is death. [A pause. Ye speak no word. What do we fight for, friends? for liberty? What is that liberty for which we fight? Is it the liberty to slay each other? Then better were it we had back again No, my friends, It is the liberty to choose our chief And bow to none beside. Now ye choose me, BURGESSES. The man shall die; he shall deserve to die; ARTEVELDE. Hold, hold, my friends! ye are too hasty here. BURGESSES. Kill him who likes, the man shall die; that's law. ARTEVELDE. What further knowledge of my rules ye need Ho! stand apart. VAN DEN BOSCH. Bring in the litter, varlets. Now sirs, let's hear your voices as you go. [Exeunt, with shouts of Artevelde!' SCENE III.-The House Van Merestyn. SIR WALTER D'ARLON and CLARA VAN ARTEVELDE. She is engaged in binding up his arm, which is wounded. CLARA. False knight, thou com'st to see thy ladye love And canst not stay thy stomach for an hour But thou must fight i' the street. Thy hungry sword— Could it keep lent no longer? By my faith, Thou shall do penance at thy lady's feet The live-long night for this. D'ARLON. God's mercy! lady! 'Twere a sharp trial, one man to keep lent CLARA. Come, come! confess thyself; make a clean breast. When knights were true and constant to their loves D'ARLON. Could you live backward for a hundred years, F And then live on a hundred years to come, You'd not find one to love you truelier Than I have loved. CLARA. What, what! no truer knight? A seemly word forsooth! Hast many more such? Enter ADRIANA. ADRIANA. My lord good heaven! Your arm-I fear you're hurt. CLARA. Hold, hush! I'll answer for thee. Merely a scratch; And lo! as we were slaying some fourteen Thus gently to chastise us on the arm, Doubtless for some good cause, tho' what, we know not. ADRIANA. My lord, you know her; she is ever thus, Still driving things against you to your face, My Lord of Arlon is too rash, too hot, Too anything CLARA. She sighs and says, too true. ADRIANA. No verily. But why, my lord, come here CLARA. Yes, tell us why. D'ARLON. Behold the very cause. Enter ARTEVELDE. ARTEVELDE (as he enters). Let my guard wait without. CLARA. His guard! What's this? ARTEVELDE. My Lord of Arlon, God be with your lordship! |