What shall we teach our chroniclers henceforth To write that in five bodies were contained The sole brave hearts of Ghent! which five defunct, The heartless town, by brainless counsel led, Her haughty lord that he would scourge her lightly! Thus looking on you as ye stand before me, As great and glorious as the chiefs that fell. And surely if we, rather than revenge The slaughter of our bravest, cry them shame, What pardon it shall be, if we know not, Yet Ypres, Courtray, Grammont, Bruges, they know; For never can those towns forget the day When by the hangman's hands five hundred men, The bravest of each guild, were done to death In those base butcheries that he called pardons. And did it seal their pardons, all this blood? Had they the Earl's good love from that time forth? Forgiveness may be spoken with the tongue, pen, But think not that the parchment and mouth pardon Till the deep sleep falls on them in that bed From which no morrow's mischief knocks them up. Ye should forgive this bloody-minded man For all his black and murderous monstrous crimes? Upon their peaceful homeward voyage bound, And now, all dangers conquer'd as they thought, Warping the vessels up their native stream, Their wives and children waiting them at home Think of these mariners, their eyes torn out, Their hands chopped off, turn'd staggering into Ghent, To meet the blasted eye-sight of their friends! And was not this the Earl? 'Twas none but he, No Hauterive of them all had dared to do it, And now what asks he? Pardon me, sir knights; (To GRUTT and BETTE.) I had forgotten, looking back and back From felony to felony foregoing, This present civil message which ye bring; Three-hundred citizens to be surrendered Up to that mercy which I tell you of That mercy which your mariners prov'd—which steep'd Courtray and Ypres, Grammont, Bruges, in blood! Three hundred citizens,-a secret list, No man knows who not one can say he's safe― Not one of you so humble but that still The malice of some secret enemy May whisper him to death-and hark-look to it! Have some of you seem'd braver than your fellows, (To GRUTT and BETTE.) You are the pickers and the choosers here, And doubtless you're all safe, ye think—ha! ha! What is it you that would deliver up Three-hundred citizens to certain death? Ho! Van Den Bosch! have at these traitors-hah (Stabs GRUTT, who falls.) VAN DEN BOSCH. Die, treasonable dog-is that enough? Down, felon, and plot treacheries in hell. (Stabs BETTE.) (The White-Hoods draw their swords, with loud cries of Treason,' Artevelde,''Ghent,' and The Chaperons Blancs.' A citizen of the other party, who in the former part of the scene had unfurled the Earl's banner, now throws it down and flies; several others are following him, and the aldermen and deans, some of whom had been dropping off towards the end of Artevelde's speech, now quit the platform with precipitation. VAN AESWYN is crossed by VAN DEN BOSCH.) VAN DEN BOSCH. Die thou, too, traitor. (Aiming a blow at him.) ARTEVELDE (warding it off). Van Den Bosch, forbear. Up with your weapons, White-Hoods; no more blood. These only are the guilty who lie here. Let no more blood be spilt on pain of death. There's no man lives within the walls of Ghent But Artevelde will look to him and his, And suffer none to plunder or molest him. Haste, Van den Bosch! by Heav'n they run like lizards! Take they not heart the sooner, by St. Paul They'll fly the city, and that cripples us. Haste with thy company to the west wards, And see thou that no violence be done Amongst the weavers and the fullers—stay— |