1

What can have made you so mysterious?

What change hath come since morning? Oh! how soon The words and looks which seemed all confidence

To me at least

But let them be

how soon are they recalled!

it matters not; I, too,

Will cast no look behind - Oh, if I should,
My heart would never hold its wretchedness.

ARTEVELDE.

My gentle Adriana, you run wild

In false conjectures: hear me to the end.
If hitherto we have not said we loved,
Yet hath the heart of each declared its love
By all the tokens wherein love delights.
We heretofore have trusted in each other,
Too wholly have we trusted to have need
Of words or vows, pledges or protestations.
Let not such trust be hastily dissolved.

ADRIANA.

I trusted not. I hoped that I was loved,
Hoped and despaired, doubted and hoped again,
Till this day, when I first breathed freelier,
Daring to trust and now

-Oh God, my heart!

It was not made to bear this agony

Tell me you love me, or you love me not.

ARTEVELDE.

I love thee, dearest, with as large a love

As e'er was compassed in the breast of man.

Hide then those tears, beloved, where thou wilt,

And find a resting place for that so wild

And troubled heart of thine; sustain it here,
And be its flood of passion wept away.

ADRIANA.

What was it that you said then? if you love,
Why have you thus tormented me?

ARTEVELDE.

Be calm;

And let me warn thee, ere thy choice be fixed,
What fate thou mayst be wedded to with me.
Thou hast beheld me living heretofore
As one retired in staid tranquillity.

The dweller in the mountains, on whose ear
The accustomed cataract thunders unobserved;
The seaman, who sleeps sound upon the deck,
Nor hears the loud lamenting of the blast,
Nor heeds the weltering of the plangent wave; 2.

These have not lived more undisturbed than I.

But build not upon this; the swollen stream
May shake the cottage of the mountaineer,

And drive him forth; the seaman, roused at length,
Leaps from his slumber on the wave-washed deck;
And now the time comes fast, when here in Ghent,
He who would live exempt from injuries

Of armed men, must be himself in arms.
This time is near for all,

nearer for me.

I will not wait upon necessity

And leave myself no choice of vantage ground,
But rather meet the times where best I may,
And mould and fashion them as best I can.
Reflect then that I soon may be embarked

In all the hazards of these troublous times,

And in your own free choice take or resign me.

ADRIANA.

Oh Artevelde, my choice is free no more.
Be mine, all mine, let good or ill betide.
In war or peace, in sickness or in health,
In trouble and in danger and in distress,

Through time and through eternity I'll love thee.
In youth and age, in life and death I'll love thee,
Here and hereafter, with all my soul and strength.
So God accept me as I never cease

From loving and adoring thee next Him;
And oh, may He pardon me if so betrayed
By mortal frailty as to love thee more.

ARTEVELDE.

I fear, my Adriana, 't is a rash

And passionate resolve that thou hast made;
But how should I admonish thee, myself

So great a winner by thy desperate play.

Heaven is o'er all, and unto Heaven I leave it.

That which hath made me weak shall make me strong,

Weak to resist, strong to requite thy love;
And if some tax thou payest for that love,
Thou shalt receive it from love's exchequer.
Now must I go; I'm waited for ere this.

ADRIANA.

Upon this finger be the first tax raised.

(Draws off a ring, which she gives him.)

Now what shall I receive?

ARTEVELDE.

The like from mine.

I had forgot-I have it not to-day:

But in its stead wear this around thy neck,
And on thy lips this impress. Now, good night.

SCENE CHANGES TO BRUGES.

[Exeunt.

AN APARTMENT IN THE PALACE OF THE EARL OF

FLANDERS.

THE EARL and SIR WALTER D'ARLON.

D'ARLON.

I marvel, my good lord, you take that knave
So freely to your counsels.

EARL.

Treason done

Against my enemies secures him mine.
His countrymen of Ghent can ne'er forgive him;
Which knowing, he will therefore cleave to me.
Besides, he learns the minds of men towards me,
Here and in Ghent, how each man stands affected.
For this and other serviceable arts,

Not out of friendship, do I show him favor.
Have you not seen a jackdaw take his stand

On a sheep's back, permitted there to perch,
Less out of kindness to so foul a bird,
Than for commodious uses of his beak?
As to the sheep the jackdaw, so to me

Is Gilbert Matthew; from my fleece he picks
The vermin that molest me. Here he comes !

Enter GILBERT MATTHEW.

Well, honest Gilbert, are the knights not gone

GILBERT MATTHEW.

Not yet, my lord; they urge in lieu of lives
The forfeiture of sundry burgages,

To fill your coffers. I denied them roundly.

I bid thee not!

But

EARL.

GILBERT MATTHEW.

?

Lives, lives, my lord, take freely ; spare the lands and burgages and moneys. The father dead, shall sleep and be forgotten; The patrimony gone, that makes a wound That's slow to heal; heirs are above-ground ever.

Well, be it so.

EARL.

GILBERT MATTHEW.

The knights wait here without

To take their audience of leave, and bring

A new adherent.