Nay, press not on me, friends; I see ye weep,

Which ye did never for

your past mischances.

But shall be disburthen'd of your griefs

ye

The rather than disheartened by these tears;
Or else should I reprove them-so-farewell!

(He passes through the crowd, which dis-
perses, and the scene closes.)

SCENE IV.

THE VESTIBULE OF THE CHURCH OF ST. NICHOLAS.

At the extreme end of it, VAN RYK is seen keeping guard over the door which gives access to the church tower. In front, CLARA appears, followed at a little distance by VAN AESWYN.

CLARA.

Still he pursues me; but I will not bear it.

How now, Sir Squire? whom seek you

AESWYN.

With your leave,

I have an errand for your private ear.

CLARA.

My private ear! I have no private ear!

My ears will not be private.

AESWYN.

To pardon my presumption.

I beseech you

CLARA.

Nay, go to;

It is not past forgiveness; no, no, no,

I freely pardon you.

And were I but permitted to speak out

All that he bade me say—

CLARA.

That he what he?

AESWYN.

The Lord of Arlon, madam.

CLARA.

Lord of what?

AESWYN.

Sir Walter, Lord of Arlon.

CLARA.

Oh! Sir Walter,—

Sir Walter D'Arlon—a good knight, they say:
He sent his service, did he ?—a good knight.-
I knew him once-he came to Ghent-oh God!
I'm sick-the air is hot, I think—so hot!
I pray you pardon me—we get no rest
In this beleaguer'd town-no anything—
This is the time of day I use to faint;
But I shall miss to do it for this once.
So please you to proceed.

AESWYN.

There's here a bench;

If you'll be seated: for you look so pale

I fear you're ill.

CLARA.

Oh, never mind the bench ;

No, I can stand—I think—well then, I'll sit.

So now, your errand ?

AESWYN.

The Lord of Arlon, madam,

Imparted to me that of all the griefs

That Fortune had allotted him, was none
So broke his spirit as the cruel thought
That you in some sort must partake the woes
Of this so suffering city: he could ne'er
Lay lance in rest, or do a feat of arms,

But this reflection stung him to the heart,

And each success in which he might have triumph'd
Was turn'd to bitterness,-seeming nought else
But injury to his love. Thus is he now

A man whose heart resents his handiwork,
And all his pleasure in the war is poisoned.

CLARA.

Alas, poor D'Arlon! but I cannot help him.

AESWYN.

Himself thinks otherwise; he bade me say
That he implores you to fly hence to him.

Till it shall please you to permit his suit.

CLARA.

I tell thee, never. I a fugitive!

Whilst Philip lives and holds the city out,
Nor pestilence nor famine, fire nor sword,
Nor evil here nor good elsewhere divides us.
Much may he lose, and much that's far more worth,
But never this reliance.

AESWYN.

With your leave,

I would make bold to ask you if your absence,
In these extremities, might not rejoice
Rather than grieve your brother, who might see
In your deliverance from such straits as these
His own acquittance of a painful charge.

CLARA.

Oh no, sir, you mistake: we two have grown
From birth on my side, boyhood upon his,
Inseparably together, as two grafts

Out of the self-same stock; we've shared alike

The sun and shower and all that Heaven hath sent us;

I've loved him much and quarrell'd with him oft,

And all our loves and quarrels past are links