Present before him arguments by scores
Bearing diversely on the affair in hand,
He'll see them all successively distinctly,
Yet never two of them can see together,
Or gather, blend, and balance what he sees
To make up one account; a mind it is
Accessible to reason's subtlest rays,

And many enter there, but none converge;
It is an army with no general,

An arch without a key-stone.-Then the other
Good Martin Blondel-Vatre-he is rich

In nothing else but difficulties and doubts.
You shall be told the evil of your scheme,
But not the scheme that's better. He forgets
That policy, expecting not clear gain,
Deals ever in alternatives. He's wise
In negatives, is skilful at erasures,
Expert in stepping backwards, an adept
At auguring eclipses. But admit

His apprehensions and demand, what then?

And

you shall find you've turned the blank leaf over.

Still three are left.

FATHER JOHN.

ARTEVElde.

Three names, and nothing more.

To please the towns that gave them birth they're sent,

Not for their merits. Verily, Father John,

I should not willingly invade your leisure,

Or mix you up with my precarious fortunes;
But I am as a debtor against whom

The writs are out-I'm driven upon my friends;

Say, will

you

stead me?

FATHER JOHN.

With my best of service,

Such as it may be. To King Richard's court

I will set forth to-morrow.

ARTEVELDE.

Ever kind!

The faithfullest as the first of all my friends.
Early to-morrow then we'll treat in full

The matter of your mission. Now, good night.

Enter VAN RYK.

You're sure, Van Ryk, it has not yet transpired

That I am in the camp?

VAN RYK.

Certain, my lord.

ARTEVElde.

Then come with me; we'll cast a casual

eye

On them that keep the watch ;-though sooth to say,

I wish my day's work over,-to forget

This restless world, and slumber like a babe;

For I am very

tired-yea, tired at heart.

VAN RYK.

Your spirits were wont to bear you up more freshly.
If I might speak, my lord, my humble mind,
You have not, since your honoured lady's death,
In such a sovereignty possessed yourself,

As you were wont to say that all men should.
Your thoughts have been more inwardly directed,
And led by fancies: should I be too bold
And let my duty lag behind my love,

To put you thus in mind, I crave your pardon.

ARTEVELDE.

That was a loss, Van Ryk; that was a loss.

The love betwixt us was not as the flush

And momentary kindling in warm youth;

But marriage and what term of time was given
Brought hourly increase to our common store.
Well-I am now the sport of circumstance,
Driven from my anchorage ;—yet deem not thou
That I my
soul surrender to the past,

In chains and bondage ;-that it is not so,
Bear witness for me long and busy days,
Which jostling and importunate affairs
So push and elbow, they but seldom leave
Shy midnight uninvaded. No, Van Ryk;
At eve returning wearied to my tent,

If sometimes I may seem to stray in thought,
Seeking what is not there, the mood is brief,
The operative function within call,
Nor know I that for any little hour
The weal of Flanders (if I may presume

To hook it on my hours) is yielded up
To idle thought, or vacant retrospect.

But now this body, exigent of rest,

Will needs put in a claim. One round we'll take, And then to bed.

VAN RYK.

My lord, you must be tired.

I am too bold to trouble you so late

With my unprofitable talk.

ARTEVELDE.

Not so;

There within

Your talk is always welcome.

You'll find a wardrobe, with some varlets' cloaks
For use at need; take one about yourself,
And meet me with another at the gate.

[Exit VAN RYK.

A serviceable, faithful, thoughtful friend,
Is old Van Ryk, and of a humble nature,
And yet with faculties and gifts of sense,
Which place him justly on no lowly level-
Why should I say a lowlier than my own,
Or otherwise than as an equal use him?
That with familiarity respect

Doth slacken, is a word of common use.
I never found it so.

[Exit.