In standing still. Things are too far afoot.
Being so high as this, to be no higher
Were presently to fall. France will not brook
To see me as I am, though I should bear
My honours ne'er so mcekly. With bold words
I magnify my strength.-Perhaps may dim
Their fire-new courage, their advance delay,
And raise the spirits of my friends.

FATHER JOHN.

My son,

These are the after-thoughts that reason coins To justify excess, and pay the debts

Of passion's prodigality.

ARTEVElde.

Nay, nay !

Something of passion may have mixed with this, Good Father, but I lost not from my thoughts The policy I speak of.

FATHER JOHN.

Might I use

The liberty of former days to one

That's since so much exalted, I would tell

How it is said abroad that Artevelde

Is not unaltered since he rose to power;

Is not unvisited of worldly pride

And its attendant passions.

ARTEVELDE.

Say they so?

Well, if it be so it is late to mend ;

For self-amendment is a work of time,

And business will not wait. Such as I am,

For better or for worse the world must take me,

For I must hasten on. Perhaps the state
And royal splendour I affect, is deemed

A proof of pride,-yet they that these contemn Know little of the springs that move mankind. 'Tis but a juvenile philosophy

That casts such things aside,

Which, be they in themselves or vile or precious,
Are means to govern. Or I'm deemed morose,
Severe, impatient of what hinders me?

Yet think what manner of men are these I rule;
What patience might have made of them, reflect.
If I be stern or fierce, 'tis from strong need
And strange provocatives. If (which I own not)
I have drunk deeper of ambition's cup,.

Be it remembered that the

cup

of love

Was wrested from my hand.

Enough of this.

Ambition has its uses in the scheme

Of Providence, whose instrument I am

To work some changes in the world or die.
This hasty coming of the French disturbs me,
And I could wish you gone.

FATHER JOHN.

My horses wait

And I am ready. I will bear in mind
With the best memory that my years permit,
Your charges; and if nothing more remains,
God's blessing on your enterprise and you!

I go my way.

ARTEVELDE.

So long as lies the Lis

Between our hosts, I have the less to fear.

Say to King Richard I shall strive to keep
The passes of the Lis, and if his aid

Find them unforced, his way to France is straight
As that to Windsor. I shall guard the Lis
With watch as circumspect as seamen keep

When in the night the leeward breakers flash.

But if he linger and the Lis be forced,

Tell him our days are numbered, and that three
Shall close this contest. I am harping still

On the same string; but you, my friend revered,
Will kindly pardon my solicitudes.

I keep you now no longer; fare

And

you

well;

may we meet again and meet in joy!

God grant it! fare you well.

FATHER JOHN.

My horses, ho!

ARTEVELDE.

Let me attend you.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

A PLATFORM NEAR ARTEVELDE'S PAVILION.

VAN MUCK is seated at some distance in the back

ground.

Enter SIR FLEUREANT and the HERALD.

SIR FLEUREANT.

Then be it as I said: the sun shall set

'Twixt seven and eight; ere then I'll know my course ;

And if the Regent lend a willing ear

To the Duke's message, and this lady send

Upon his summons, merrily we go

Together, and who meets us on the road

Shall say, a goodly company, God bless them!
A man, a woman, and a pursuivant.

But 'twill not be so.

HERALD.

Let us hope it may.

SIR FLEUREANT.

Assure yourself 'twill otherwise befal.
He will retain her, or herself hold back.
Then shall it be your prudence to depart
With your best speed, whilst I invent a cause
For lingering. I will not take my answer,
But spin the matter of my mission out.
Into such length as with that web to hide
My underworkings. Be you gone from Flanders
Fast as you may and far, when this falls out,
And you shall tell the duke with what good will
I hazard in his service loss of all

I have to lose,-my life.

HERALD.

Loth should I be