Ere they could close the gate, and entered with them.
Then all were slain save Launoy and his guard,
Who, barricaded in the minster tower,
Made desperate resistance, whereupon
The Earl waxed wrothful and bade fire the church.
Say'st thou? Oh sacrilege accursed! Was 't done?
and presently was heard a yell, And after that the rushing of the flames! Then Launoy from the steeple cried aloud 'A ransom!' and held up his coat to sight With florins filled, but they without but laughed And mocked him, saying, Come amongst us, John, And we will give thee welcome; —make a leap — Come out at window, John.' - With that the flames
Rose up and reached him, and he drew his sword,
Cast his rich coat behind him in the fire,
And shouting'Ghent, ye slaves!' leapt freely forth,
When they below received him on their spears.
And so died John of Launoy.
"T is certain we must now make peace betimes,
The city will be starved else.
Starvation is upon us want and woe
Stand round about and stare us in the face;
And what will be the end?
So long as Van den Bosch bears rule in Ghent
You'll not have peace, for well wots he no terms
That spare his life will pacify the Earl.
Sirs, if we make no peace but with the will
Of them whose heads must answer it, woe to us!
For we must fight for ever; Sirs, I say,
We must put down this Van den Bosch,
and up
The men that with the Earl stand fair and free,
Who shall take counsel for the city's weal.
Then, friends, stand fast by me,
And as we're all agreed to give no denier
Of this five hundred marks, I will speak out,
And let him know our minds.
Enter VAN DEN BOSCH and THE LORD OF Occo, with a retinue of WHITE-HOODS.
Good morrow, worthy friends, good morrow, all!
"T is a sweet sight to look on, in these times,
A score of true and trusty friends to Ghent
So fresh and hearty, and so well provided.
Ah, Sirs, you know not, you, who lies afield
When nights are cold, with frogs for bed-fellows;
You know not, you, who fights and sheds his blood,
And fasts, and fills his belly with the east wind!
Poor souls and virtuous citizens they are!
'T is they that keep the franchises of Ghent.
But what! they must be fed; they must have meat ! Sirs, have ye brought me these five hundred marks That they demanded?
Look round about; as many as stand here
Are of one mind, and this is what they think:
The company of White-Hoods, some time past,
Were, as thou sayest, brave citizens and true,
And they fought stoutly for our franchises;
But they were afterward as beasts of prey,
That, tasting blood, grow greedy and break loose,
And turn upon their keepers: so at length,
The city, like a camp in mutiny,
Saw nothing else to walk her streets unharmed
But these your free companions. They at will
Entered our houses, lived upon our means
In riotry, made plunder of our goods,
Lay with our wives and daughters; and if once
Some hardy fool made bold to lift his hand
For safeguard of his own, he met his death.
Now this we have resolved to bear no longer,
Nor will we give our substance so to feed
The lewd excesses of your company.
How now, Myk Steensel! thou art bold of tongue;
I marvel thou shouldst speak so like a traitor
In presense of such honest, virtuous men,
As these thou seest about me. How can I,
Think you, give warranty that some good soul,
Inflamed with anger at thy foolish speech,
May not cut out thy tongue and slit thy nose
For uttering of such treasons-how, indeed?
Thou think'st by this to hound thy pack upon me;
But know, thy reign is o'er, and I defy thee.
Thy brother Launoy with his men at arms
Will never answer to thy bidding more;
And if thou dare do violence to me,
Thou shalt be fain to take as long a leap
As his was at Nivelle.
VAN DEN BOSCH.
Oh, ho! my masters!
'Tis this then that emboldens you, this tale
Brought by a lying slave who ran away
Before the fight began, and calls it lost,
That so his cowardice should stand excused;
For which his false report and foul desertion
I have already had him gibbetted.
Bring not yourselves, I pray ye, for your honors,
With the like nimbleness to a grave i' the air.
I say, Sirs, bring me these five hundred marks,
And that or ere to-morrow's sun go down
Five hundred marks- I'll bate you not a scute;
Ye slothful, hide-blown, gormandizing niggards!
What! all must starve but you, that lie a-bed,
And lack a day of fast to purge your grossness.
What, know ye who I am? Are ye awake?
Or sleeping off the wine of yesternight,
And deeming this some tustle with your wives
For pulling of a blanket here or there.
Five hundred marks — begone, and bring the money.
Begone we will. Let's to our homes, my friends.
And what we'll bring thee, thou shalt know betimes,
Nor wait the setting of to-morrow's sun.
Not gold, Sir, no, nor silver, be thou sure,
But what shall best befit a brave man's hand.
[Exeunt STEENSEL and the BURGHERS; manent
VAN DEN BOSCH and Occo.
Thou seest, Sir, how the knaves take heart and rail
On this mishap.
Our White-Hoods looked like very renegades,
As though they knew not which to fear the most,
Thy rod and gallows-tree, or the Earl's bailiff.
Trust me, we're falling fast to pieces, Peter.
My Lord of Occo, thou hast seen aright.
But what can I? Our chiefs drop, one by one;
Launoy, too truly, perished at Nivelle;
Le Clerc lies leaning up against a hedge
(Till some one dare go bury him), at Chem;
Thy cousin fell with Launoy. Now, Van Harsells
And Ackerman are good for men at arms,
But want the wit to govern a great town.
And I am good at arms, and want not wit,
But then I'm sore suspected of the rich,
By reason of my rudeness, and the fruit
Which that same gallows-tree of mine hath borne ;
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