What a most mighty emperor of puppets
Is this that I have brought upon the board!
But how if he that made it should unmake?

ARTEVELDE.

Unto His sovereignty who truly made me

With infinite humility I bow!

Both, both of us are puppets, Van den Bosch;

Part of the curious clock-work of this world,

We scold, and squeak, and crack each other's crowns;
And if by twitches moved from wires we see not,

I were to toss thee from this steeple's top,
I should be but the instrument - no more-
The tool of that chastising Providence
Which doth exalt the lowly, and abase
The violent and proud: but let me hope
Such is not mine appointed task to-day.
Thou passest in the world for worldly-wise :
Then seeing we must sink or swim together,
What can it profit thee, in this extreme
Of our distress, to wrangle with me thus
For my supremacy and rule? Thy fate,
As of necessity bound up with mine,
Must needs partake my cares: let that suffice
To put thy pride to rest till better times.
Contest

more reasonably wrong

a prize

More precious than the ordering of a shipwreck.

VAN DEN BOSCH.

Tush, tush, Van Artevelde; thou talk'st and talk'st,
And honest burghers think it wondrous fine.

But thou might'st easilier with that tongue of thine

Persuade yon smoke to fly i' the face o' the wind, Than talk away my wit and understanding.

I say yon herald-shall not enter here.

ARTEVELDE.

I know, Sir, no man better, where my talk
Is serviceable singly, where it needs

To be by acts enforced. I say, beware,
And brave not mine authority too far.

VAN DEN BOSCH.

Hast thou authority to take my life?
What is it else to let yon herald in
To bargain for our blood?

ARTEVELDE.

Thy life again!

Why what a very slave of life art thou!
Look round about on this once populous town;
Not one of these innumerous house-tops

But hides some spectral form of misery,

Some peevish, pining child and moaning mother,
Some aged man that in his dotage scolds
Not knowing why he hungers, some cold corse
That lies unstraightened where the spirit left it.
Look round, and answer what thy life can be
To tell upon the balance of such scales.
I too would live - I have a love for life
But rather than to live to charge my soul
With one hour's lengthening out of woes like these,
I'd leap this parapet with as free a bound

As e'er was school-boy's o'er a garden wall.

VAN DEN BOSCH.

I'd like to see thee do it.

ARTEVELDE.

I know thou wouldst;

But for the present be content to see
My less precipitate descent; for lo!
There comes the herald o'er the hill.

[Exit.

VAN DEN BOSCH.

Beshrew thee!

Thou shalt not have the start of me in this.

[He follows, and the scene closes.

SCENE II.

THE HOUSE VAN ARTEVELDE.

URSEL, VAN RYK, and VAN MUCK.

URSEL.

He will be here for his breakfast anon.

VAN RYK.

And call you this his breakfast?

URSEL.

An ounce of horse-flesh and half an oaten cake. It

is his only meal; and if I were to make it larger, he would ne'er look at it.

VAN MUCK.

Why we ourselves fare better.

VAN RYK.

I fare somewhat better, and for thee, thou wouldst make a famine when there was none.

No more than this morsel of meat in four-and-twenty hours.

URSEL.

No more; and if he hath been abroad, I would lay an even wager that he shall bring home some little child, or some sick woman to share it with him.

VAN RYK.

It is wonderful how stout he is withal. Some men shall but bite their nails, and their belly's full.

VAN MUCK.

There is a difference in men. I might eat the four hoofs of an ox, and my stomach should droop you, look you, and flap you, look you, like an empty sail. Here he comes.

Enter VAN ARTEVELDE.

ARTEVELDE.

A herald, Sirs, is coming here from Bruges.

To horse, Van Muck, to horse, with Swink and Kloos, And any other of thy readiest men,

And bring him safely in. What ails thee, man?

VAN MUCK.

Sir, saving your displeasure, Swink and Kloos
Against your express orders, and despite
Of much I said myself, have eat their horses.

ARTEVELDE.

Thou sayest not so? God's vengeance on their

stomachs!

Next horse they kill, my cook shall serve it up,
And melt the shoes for sauce.

To horse thyself then, with what men are mounted,
And see that no mishap befall the herald.

Sir, at your pleasure.

VAN MUCK.

ARTEVELDE.

And beware, Van Muck.

Some there may be of evil-minded men

Who would do outrage to the city's honor,

And harm the herald. Look thou keep him safe.

VAN MUCK.

Sir, safe he shall be, whosoe'er would harm him.

CLARA enters, but remains behind.

ARTEVELDE.

[Exit.

And now, Van Ryk, I have a charge for thee.
Thou in the porch of Old St. Nicholas Church,
Art to mount guard beside the postern-gate
Which leads upon the stair that climbs the steeple.
Betake thee thither, and until I come,

Inward or outward let none pass the wicket.

(Turning to Clara.)

How fares my sister? nay

come hither, Clara.

CLARA.

No nearer, Philip, for I breathe contagion.