SIR FLEUREANT. Take thou thy grievance to the outer hall, But go no further hence. Soft, Master Usher; USHER. This way. [Exit, with the Yeoman. Enter the DUKES of BURGUNDY and BOURBON. BURGUNDY. Good morrow, Flurry. Not on us, good brother. Might chance be charged on us, as natural guides, But back'd by all the council,-yea, by all, Back'd by the council, wherein weighty reasons BOURBON. Ay, brother, there it is! That you have reasons of your own none doubts, BURGUNDY. In Jacques Bonhomme's throat In Flanders, think you they stand fast in France? Though heir to Flanders I am Frenchman born, And gathering like the snow-wreaths in a storm As fair as false. BOURBON. But Philip speaks us fair. BURGUNDY. SIR FLEUREANT. My lords, there's proof of that Here close at hand; a yeoman from Tournesis, BURGUNDY. There, good brother, there! There's Flemish friendship, Flemish love of peace! Shall we make nought of this? BOURBON. We'll sift it, brother, And find if it be true. BURGUNDY. Where is the man? SIR FLEUREANT. I'll bring him in, my lord. Enter the KING with a Hawk on his hand. BURGUNDY. How now, my royal cousin, have you done? KING. O yes, good uncle. [Exit. 'Right noble our liege councillors all, We greet you! We have required your BURGUNDY. Presence here this day. KING. 'We have required your presence here this day I'll fly my hawk, I'll say the rest. good uncle, now; to-morrow Come, Jerry, Jerry, Jerry! BURGUNDY. Cousin, stay. Enter SIR FLEUREANT with the Yeoman. Here is a worthy yeoman from Tournesis, Here, worthy yeoman, you shall kiss our hand. Get off there, Jerry. [The Yeoman kneels and kisses his hand. BOURBON. Now, sir, from what place In France or Flanders, com'st thou? YEOMAN. Please your highness, "Twas a small holding from my lord of Vergues Close to the liberties of Fontenoy. BOURBON. This side the bourn ? YEOMAN. Three miles, my lord, and long ones, Three miles in France. BURGUNDY. BOURBON. And what befell thee there? YEOMAN. My lord, my wife and I, on Wednesday night, Then said my wife (Pierilla, if it please you,) "Tis well we're yeomen and of poor estate, And that we're lieges of a mightier lord Than was the Count of Flanders: 'tis God's mercy! Our humble dwelling flaming like a torch. BURGUNDY. Thou hast done well; Retire His Majesty will bring thy case : |