ACT III. SCENE I. NIGHT. A WOOD IN THE VICINITY OF BRUGES. THE LORD OF OCCO AND FOLLOWERS. OCCO. No more than half a league to Bruges? then halt, (TO VAN AESWYN, who enters.) Where is the lady? AESWYN. They've dropped behind some furlong with the litter. оссо. Keep thou beside her, lest she might prevail. Now, if we're all in order, march we on. [Exeunt. SCENE II. A BANQUETTING-HALL IN THE STADT-HOUSE AT Tables are spread, and the EARL OF FLANDERS, the HASE OF FLANDERS, with several Lords, Knights, and followers of the Eurl, are entertained by the Mayor of Bruges, and the Aldermen. EARL. Sir Mayor, we thank you; 't is a royal feast. MAYOR. My gracious lord, the supper is but poor; And yet the most we can; your humble hosts, Can but purvey your highness what they have, ALDERMAN. True, indeed. Yet if your highness please to cast it up, A thousand florins MAYOR. Hold thy peace, Van Holst; The minstrels twang their cat-gut. EARL (aside to the HASE). In good time. If aught could make me cast my supper up, "T were to taste further of their courtesies. Soho, Sir minstrel! what hast got to sing? VAN HOLST. That matter has been cared for, please your highness. And 't was not every poesy would please you. Trumped up as 't were extempore for the nonce. He was no tavern cantabank that made it, But a squire minstrel of your highness' court. So-sing, Sir Minstrel - there you have it - ah! Fal-lal- the very thing the tune's 'Green Sleeves.' THE MINSTREL SINGS. The little bird sat on the greenwood tree, The little bird sang, Sir Lion arise, For I hear with my ears and I see with my eyes; From his lair the Lion of Flanders rose, For a little bird sang, and I dreamed beside, And was fast asleep, and they trod on my tail.' Ere a leaf was fallen the Lion he went, And growled a growl at the gates of Ghent; But they bended low when they saw him awake, The little bird sat on the bush so bare, Sir Lion awake, and put out your claws, The Lion stirred and awoke with a snort, For a little bird sang, and I dreamed as well, Ere a snow-flake fell the Lion he went, And roared a roar at the gates of Ghent; The gates they shook, though they were fast barred, And the warders heard it at Oudenarde. At the first roar ten thousand men Wo worth thee, Ghent! if having heard EARL. A singular good song, and daintily accompanied with the music. Give him three florins, and a denier for the lad withal. VAN HOLST. Your highness is too bountiful. He made it not himself. T was your highness's serjeant minstrel that made it. The making and mending of it together was seven days and nights, bating twelve hours for sleeping, and four hours for eating, and five minutes for saying his prayers. Drinking never stopped him, for still the more he drank, the more he made of it. And he ranted and sang an' it like your highness, that it would have pleased you to hear him; for being that the song was made in honor of your highness, he said he could sing it a thousand times over, and think better of it every time. EARL. It is good poesy-marry and good prophecy too. Hark ye, master Mayor; I have some whit repented me that I was wrought upon by those old Knights of Ghent to proffer terms of such easy acquittance. MAYOR. When your highness is graciously pleased to give away your advantages, it is not for such as I to say you do wrong; but every man in Bruges, that is well affected to your highness, said that three hundred heads was too little. |