University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

Scene I.

—The field of Merle, in the environs of Bruges.
Artevelde, Van den Bosch, Van Ryk, Van Muck, and others.
Artevelde.
Not a step farther; give the word to halt,
And bring the waggons up; we can't be better.
God grant that they come hither in their haste!
Here is the fighting-ground, and there the slough
In which they needs must perish should they yield.
We can't be better.

Van den Bosch.
Let it then be here.
I've probed the slough.

Artevelde.
That I did too; 'tis deep.

Van den Bosch.
He is a taller man than you or I
That finds the bottom with his head above.

Artevelde.
It is an hour to sunset.

Van Ryk.
Nay, 'tis more.

Artevelde.
A little more, Van Ryk. I would to God
The sun might not go down upon us here
Without a battle fought!

Van den Bosch.
If so it should
We pass a perilous night.

Artevelde.
A nipping night,
And wake a wasted few the morrow morn.

Van Muck.
We have a supper left.

Artevelde.
My Lady's page
If he got ne'er a better should be wroth
And burn in effigy my Lady's steward.
For us and for one supper 'twill suffice;
But he's a skilful man at splitting hairs
That can make two on't.

Van Ryk.
Ay, or leave behind
A breakfast in his dish.

Artevelde.
We break our fast
Elsewhere to-morrow. I pray God the Saint
Whose feast they celebrate to-night at Bruges
May steep them well in wine. If Ukenheim
Get undiscover'd in, we shall not miss
To profit by his skill.

Van den Bosch.
We'll hope the best;
But if there be a knave in power unhang'd,
And in his head a grain of sense undrown'd,
He'll be their caution not to—

Artevelde.
Van den Bosch,
Talk we of battle and survey the field,
For I will fight. Let stakes be driven in
Amongst the rushes at the nether end
Of this morass. Van Ryk, look thou to that.
And thou, Van Muck, unload the victual here;
Then tilt the waggons up behind the stakes
And pierce them for cross-bows. A horse for me,
That I may know the ground. And now, friends all,
Let's to our charges. Ere the red sun sink
Beyond yon city, Ghent is lost or saved!

Scene II.

—An open Tent erected for public entertainment in the Market-place of Bruges.—Boisterous songs and other sounds of riot and jollity are heard on all sides. Within the tent a miscellaneous company are drinking, and amongst them is Ukenheim in the dress of a Mariner of Bruges.
Ukenheim.

I pray you pledge me in this, to our better acquaintance.

Lunyz.

At your service, Sir. What say'st thou, Jan Trickle? Is not this the right way? Is not this the narrow road? Knew'st thou ever a Saint's day more seemly celebrated? Dost see what a devotion there is to it?

Trickle.

I see very many righteous gentlemen very drunk. But my wife says, were they at church it should be more seemly.

Kroolkhuys.

Bah! didst ever know a man's wife that liked him to be drinking without her to help?

Gulpus.

Mine is a rare helpmate.

Lunyz.

Let the Church speak. Father Swillen, is not this as it should be?

Father Swillen.

My son, and worthy burgesses, and beloved brethren! Of the present solemnity I will

deliver my opinion according to the canons. Wine is to be used cum abstinentiâ et temperantiâ, for the recovery of the sick, the consolation of the dying, and the healing of a wounded spirit. It is also to be used in honour of our Lady of Bolayne on this the day of her festival. But the presence of a priest is needful herein, for the preventing of abuses and the showing of a proper example.

[Drinks.
Tackenham
(advancing from the farther end of the tent.)

Father Swillen—friend, if I knocked you down I ask your pardon—Father Swillen—Sirs, give me place, for I must see the Father—Father Swillen, I look upon you to be one man of a thousand—I will go on my knees to you—I look upon you to be the oracle of God—I look upon you to be the invisible oracle of God—for there you are and I see you not.—I can stand,—I say I can stand—but here I kneel down, and I will not rise unless you stretch forth your hand to me and raise me up— and this is the view I take of our duties as Christian men —all which is submitted to your better judgment, and I would that all men paid their dues to the Church.

Father Swillen.

God requite you, my son! For their salvation—for their salvation—nothing else.

Lunyz
(looking out into the Market-place).

Here is a minstrel twiddles with the strings of his cithern. Now we shall hear a song.

THE FOLLOWING SONG IS SUNG TO A VULGAR TUNE.
Kroolkhuys.

I' faith he sings like a nightingale. No more, thank you,—I cannot—cannot . . . well, if I must . . . [drinks.]
'Tis a charming lullaby, and the sentiment very tender and soothing. Let us all do as we would be done by, God bless us!

[Falls asleep.
[Suddenly is heard from the Market-place a loud cry of “To arms! To arms!”
Ukenheim
(starting up and drawing his sword.)

To arms? What! the men of Ghent come to us? What! the scarecrows from Ghent! To arms! to arms! Out and down with them! To arms! to arms!

Kroolkhuys
(waking).

Why how is this? the men of Ghent! What ho! give me my coat of proof!

Ukenheim.

Let cowards stay behind. To arms! to arms!

[They rush out confusedly. Tackenham creeps from under the table where he had remained in a reclining posture.
Takenham.

To arms! I look upon Father Swillen to be an oracle, and it were to be wished that all men paid the Church her dues.

Scene III.

—The Palace.
The Lord of Occo and Gilbert Matthew.
Gilbert.
His Highness will be here anon. Sir Guy,
Freely accept the combat for the morrow.
Count on my speed. There's not a man in Bruges
Who has outlived the day I wish'd him dead.
The threads of many destinies I hold
Unknown to them they bind for life or death,
And I am punctual as the planet stars.
A winter's night, as long as nights are now,
Is worth an age.

Occo.
One doubt detains me still.
The Earl, if ever it were known, would—

Gilbert.
Hark!
'Tis over, that. He loves him now no more.
For every philtre that can make men love
I know the secret of an antidote.
I've warn'd him of those private ties in Ghent.
Enough. I've dosed him.

Occo.
Well, it shall be done.

Gilbert.
I will provide the hands.

Occo.
You shall not need.
I have already sent for two tried men,—
Italians; they are practised hands and fit.

Gilbert.
I have you then; 'tis Erclo and Romero.

Occo.
The same.

Enter the Earl.
Earl.
What shouting's this I hear abroad?

Occo.
The revellers, my good Lord; they pitch the bar,
And shoot with cross-bows for a prize. My Lord,
At noon to-morrow, if his heart but hold,
I'll meet Sir Walter D'Arlon.

Gilbert.
In good truth
But are these shouts of revel? Hark, again!
They cry “To arms!”

Earl.
By Heaven! I think 'tis that!
And hear ye not the bells? They're ringing backwards.

Occo.
'Tis an alarm.

Enter the Lord of Arlon, Sir Robert Mareschault, and others.
Earl.
Well, D'Arlon, what is this?

D'Arlon.
The men of Ghent, my Lord, the men of Ghent.

Earl.
What, here?

D'Arlon.
Two miles aloof they make a stand.

Earl.
What, are they mad?

D'Arlon.
I think not mad, my Lord,
But desperate.

Earl.
My friends, 'tis all as one.
Now shall this war be gloriously closed,
And famine, that was tedious, be o'erta'en.
Bring out my banner, summon all to arms,
Then forth and fight them.

Gilbert.
Please you, Sir, to say
How many they may number.

Sir Robert.
At a guess,
About five thousand.

Gilbert.
May they move or stand?

Sir Robert.
Since they were first descried they have not stirr'd.

Earl.
Forth with my banner; out with horse and foot.
Sir Knights, we muster in the Market-place.
Bring me my armour, ho!

Gilbert.
My Lord, one word,
Ere yet the Knights depart. These men are few,
But they are desperate; famine-bitten are they,
But alway are the leanest wolves most brave
To break the fold. Sir, let us not be rash;
Our men at-arms are somewhat flush'd with drink
And may be ill to guide. Sir, think upon it.
Fight them to-morrow. Let them sleep to-night
In winter's lap, beneath the ragged tent
Of a December's sky. When morning breaks
You'll see them lying upon yon hill-side
As dead and sapless as the last month's leaves.
Give them this night.

The Hase of Flanders.
They'll think we stay through fear.

Gilbert.
Think they their will; whate'er they think of that
They shall unthink to-morrow.

Earl.
By my faith,
I know not, Gilbert, but thou mayst be right.
The winter's night is sure to thin their ranks
Of fighting men; and if they're scantly stored
With victual, which is probable to think,
They shall endure it worse.

Enter the Mayor in haste.
Mayor.
My Lord, my Lord,
The crafts fly forth by thousands from the gates
Unorder'd and unled.

Earl.
Who kept the gates?
How came they open? Walter, haste thee, haste!
And bring the madmen back.
[Exit D'Arlon.
How came they so?

Mayor.
A simple mariner avouch'd, my Lord,
That he had heard your Highness's own mouth
Give out the order.

Earl.
Hang the slave! 'twas false.

Mayor.
So thought the warders; nor had they complied
But that the people, being much inflamed,
Menaced their lives.

Enter a Squire.
Squire.
Sir Walter, Sir, sends word
The town is almost emptied. He entreats
Your Highness will not look to bring them back,
Which is past hope, but sound at once to arms
And send them leaders.

Earl.
Gilbert, we must forth.

Gilbert.
Ay, go we forth, and fear not for the end.
Fifty to five, we surely must do well,
Though peradventure for the sparing lives
We might have done more wisely.

Earl.
Sirs, be sudden;
And when you're mounted in the Market-place,
I'll give you there your charges. Sound to horse.

Scene IV.

—The Field of Merle, as in the First Scene. Artevelde, Van Ryk, Van Muck, and others.
Artevelde.
See'st thou yon sweeping section of the road
That leads by Ecdorf to the eastern gate?
My eyes are strain'd, but yet I thought I saw
A moving mass of men.

Van Ryk.
I thought so too.
When I had held mine eyes a minute fix'd
As in a morsel of dry moulder'd cheese
I thought I could descry a tumbling movement.

Artevelde.
Who hath the longest and the clearest sight
Of all our men? go bring him. Nay, stop, stop!
I think we shall not need him: now, look there.
By Heaven, they come! they come! Ha! Van den Bosch!
Enter Van Den Bosch.
I give you joy! by Heaven we have our wish.

Van den Bosch.
Yea, Sir, they come, and now, betide what may,
We'll mix the Evil One a mess for supper
In yonder darksome pool.

Artevelde.
A ruddier tinge
Than ever evening cast shall warm its waters
Ere evening colours fade. What ho! Van Serl,
Serve out the victual all. But first, to prayers;
We will be shriven first, and then we'll sup,
And after that we'll cut a road to bed,
Be it in Bruges or in a better place.
Van Ryk, abide thou here and bring me word
If any shall approach by other ways;
And when the foremost of the troop we see
Have past yon broken wall, then sound thy horn,
And I will send thee forces wherewithal
To keep thy post. There's food behind the carts,
Whereof partake with them I'll send thee.

Van Ryk.
Nay,
I shall want nothing, Sir,

Artevelde.
I tell thee eat,
Eat and be fresh. Anon I'll send a Priest.
Van Muck, thou tak'st small comfort in thy prayers;
Put thou thy muzzle in yon tub of wine.
Now, Van den Bosch, or ere the sun go down
We'll know Heaven's will.

Van den Bosch.
Have with thee, Artevelde!
Thou art a man of mettle and my friend,
And I would have thee know that should we fall,
Either or both, I bear thee now no grudge;
And so may Heaven forgive my many sins
As I do thee.

Artevelde.
Why, thou art now thyself.
With heart and hand we'll fall upon the foe,
And do the work like brothers. Come thy ways.

[Exeunt all but Van Ryk and Van Muck.
Van Ryk.
Van Muck, I prithee step along the path
That rounds the hill, and mark if on that side
Aught may be stirring.

Van Muck.
Ay, and if there be
I'll shout and hail thee.

[Exit.
Enter Artevelde's Page.
Van Ryk.
Why, my little man,
How cam'st thou hither? 'tis no place for thee.
What, cam'st thou with the army?

Page.
No, from Bruges.

Van Ryk.
What took thee there?

Page.
'Twas I that took myself.
But Mistress Clara wished that I should go.
She sojourns with the Prioress of St. Anne
Till all be over.

Van Ryk.
And with her, my boy,
Thou shouldst have stay'd.

Page.
What! in a convent? No,
I think not when a battle is toward.
Besides, the Prioress was all on edge
To hear of what befalls, her sister's son,
Sir Walter D'Arlon, being forth; so me
They charged to keep good watch and bring them word
How he shall fare; but by my halidom
I will not run of errands now; I'll fight.

Van Ryk.
God's mercy on the Knight thou fall'st upon!
Nay, nay, content thee; couch thee by yon carts,
And dream not thou of fighting.

Page.
Is it true
That some half-hour will bring the battle on?

Van Ryk.
Less time than that. Thou see'st how fast they come.
But now we scarce distinguish'd if they moved,
And see,—upon the skirts of yonder mass
We may discern them, single man by man.

Page.
Can you descry the pennons of the Knights
That lead them?

Van Ryk.
Truly, I perceive not one;
A multitude—a mass of heads—nought else—
No banner, pennon, nor a mounted man.
If any Knight be there he comes afoot.

Page.
The Lord of Arlon surely must be there;
He's always with the foremost.

Van Ryk.
If he be
His pennon is not.

Page.
Nay, but look again;
I see some Knights that gallop up behind,
And pennons now come streaming on the road
Betwixt the town and them.

Van Ryk.
Good faith, 'tis true.
Thou hast sharp eyes.

Page.
And there—upon the bridge—
Whose is that pennon?

Van Ryk.
I shall know anon,
If but yon clump will let me. Come this way
And we shall see them better. Through the gap.

Scene V.

—Another part of the Field.
Artevelde and others.
Artevelde.
Their cross-bow shafts have touch'd us on that side,
And ours fly large. We're dazzled by the sun.
Bid Van den Bosch give gently back and back
And wind them round the slough; I'll hover here;
And soon as he have turn'd his back o' the sun
Let him stand fast and shoot. Thou hast thine errand;
Let it not cool. And you, Sirs, follow me.

Scene VI.

—Another part of the Field.
The Lord of Arlon and Gilbert Matthew.
Gilbert.
How came they thus? My Lord, I needs must say
A soldier's courage, not a leader's skill,
Has placed them here.

D'Arlon.
Skill! what can skill avail?
Could skill have made men sober that were drunk?
The meanest archer with his senses whole
Would not have rush'd to stare the sun i' the face
As these have done; nothing could stop them, sots!

Gilbert.
They will not long hold out.

D'Arlon.
I prithee fly,
And tell the Earl to send us succours up.
I'll keep them steady, if I can, till then.

Scene VII.

—Another part of the Field.
Artevelde's Page following an Archer.
Page.
Stay, hearken.

Archer.
Od's my body! what is here?
A mannikin at arms? Why clutch me, friend?
Art thou afraid?

Page.
Take that for asking.

Archer.
Slain
With buffet of a mighty man of war!
Well, thou hast mettle; what's hy will with me?

Page.
I am thy Captain's page; he sends to know
Where D'Arlon fights.

Archer.
So; stop, then; with thine eye
If thou canst follow forth yon grey stone wall
Down to the hollow, and where farther on
Again it rises, thou shalt see a crowd
Of fighting men, and in their thickest front
The pennon of the Lord of Arlon flies—
By Heaven! But I think no—a minute since
It there was flying, but I think 'tis down.

[Exit Page.
Enter Artevelde, with Followers from the one side, and Van Ryk with Followers from the other.
Artevelde.
How is't with you? On our side all is well.
One half their host is founder'd in the swamp,
The other full in flight.

Van Ryk.
On our side too
They all have fled; but farther down the field
The D'Arlon still stands fast.

Artevelde.
Set on,—set on—
Make for the spot. But hurt ye not that Knight.

Scene VIII.

—A Street in Bruges.—It is Night.—The Earl of Flanders and Sir Robert Mareschault enter, preceded by Attendants bearing torches.
Earl.
What succours we can find I'll lead myself.
Was ever such disaster! Madmen first,
And cowards after!

Enter a Soldier in haste.
Soldier.
Fly, my Lord! fly, fly!
The gates are lost; they're now within the walls.

Earl.
Why say they are, and must I therefore fly?
Make for the Market-place; we'll rally there
Whoever will be rallied.—Pass we on—
Lights to the Market-place.

Enter another Soldier.
Soldier.
Is't you, my Lord?
Oh! not that way! the men of Ghent are there.
Fly, fly, my Lord!

Earl.
The men of Ghent are where?

Soldier.
I' the Market-place, my Lord.

Earl.
Already there!

Sir Robert.
Put out your lights.

Earl.
Ay, truly, now all's lost.
Put out your lights, good fellows all, and fly.
Save me ye cannot, and ye may yourselves.
[The lights are extinguished.
Which way to turn I know not.

Sir Robert.
Down the street
I see the flash of cressets that come hither;
Hence, in God's name! Here, varlet, doff thy cloak,
And give it to my Lord.

Earl.
Throw mine away,
Or it might else betray thy life; get hence;
But if thou fallest in the enemy's hands,
Have a good tongue; say not thou saw'st me here.
Adieu, Sir Robert; each the other hazards
By holding thus together.

Sir Robert
Sir, Farewell. [Exit.
[The Earl, left alone, knocks at the door of a house; a window is opened above and a woman looks out.


Woman.
Who's he that knocks?

Earl.
A much endanger'd man.

Woman.
We're all endanger'd on such nights as these.
I cannot let thee in.

Earl.
I pray thee, do.

Woman.
Art thou a man-at-arms?

Earl.
Yea, truly.

Woman.
Ah!
Then get thee gone; they'll ransack every house
To hunt out men-at-arms. Go, get thee gone.

Earl.
I have no arms upon me.

Woman.
Get thee gone!

Earl.
I am the Earl of Flanders.

Woman.
Good my Lord!
O mercy! my good Lord, and is it you?
Woe's me! I'll ope the door. The many times
That alms were given me at your Lordship's gate
And I to hold you haggling here! Woe's me!
[She descends and opens the door.
Come in, my gracious Lord; up yonder steps
You'll find a cock-loft and a couch of straw;
Betwixt the mattress and the boards lie flat,
And you may well be hidden. Here are lights!
Come in, come in.

[They enter the house.
Enter Van Muck, followed by several Men of Ghent.
He knocks at the door.
Van Muck.
No answer? Nay then, knock me in this door.

[The woman opens it.
Woman.
Why, valiant Sirs, you would not sure molest
A widow and her children.

Van Muck.
Who's within?

Woman.
Three helpless orphans; as I hope for grace;
No soul beside.

Van Muck.
Wilt take thy oath of that?

Woman.
I pray God strike me dead upon the threshold
If any be within but my three babes,
Myk, Lodowyk, and Jan.

Van Muck.
Why, as we came
We saw a man go in.

Woman.
Good Sir, good Sir,
You are deceived; there was no man at all;
'Twas I look'd out and emptied down a bucket!
A man! God help us; no.

Van Muck.
Go in and see.

[Some of the men enter the house.
Woman.
Walk in, your worships; pray walk in—walk in.
You see my humble house: one room below,
And one above. Sir, will you not walk in?

Van Muck.
No, no; I'll keep the door.

Woman.
These times, sweet Sir,
Are hard for widow'd women and their babes.

[The men come out again.
One of the Men.
'Tis as she says: three children are asleep;
Three in the cock-loft; there is none beside.

Van Muck.
Good even to you, Dame. Friends, follow me.

[Exeunt Van Muck and his Men.
Woman.
Beshrew your hearts, ye filthy dogs of Ghent!
The Devil catch you by the throat! for once
You've miss'd your game. Ah, gracious Lord, away!

Scene IX.

—The Market-place of Bruges.—In front, Artevelde with Clara and D'Arlon. Next, Ukenheim, Frans Ackerman, Van Nuitre,and other Leaders. Behind them are crowds of armed Followers and Attendants bearing torches, of whom some companies march off from time to time under orders from their Captains and others remain keeping guard over prisoners and spoil.
Artevelde.
War hath dealt hardly with the noble D'Arlon;
Him gold not ransoms, and to stricter bonds
A captive Knight was never yet consign'd.
[Turning to his Followers.
Van Muck returns not. Who amongst you all
Hath eye of lynx and leveret's foot to speed
Through all the town with inquisition sure
And leave no corner of a house unsearch'd?
Where is Van Ryk?

Ukenheim.
He left us at the gates.

Artevelde.
True, true, upon a mission sent by me.
He will be here anon. Then Ukenheim,
Go thou, with such assistance as thou wilt,
Upon the quest, through every lane and street.
Take him, if possibly ye can, alive.
Evil and folly hath he wrought against us,
But never treason; he had wrong'd us less
But for the renegades that gave him counsel.
Bring forth the Lord of Occo.
[Occo is brought forward bound.
So, my Lord!
Enter Van Muck and his party.
Another?

Van Muck.
Gilbert Matthew, Sir, we bring.

Artevelde.
And not the Earl?

Van Muck.
No; he, they say, escaped,
And took the road to Lisle. He lay some space
Hid in a hovel till the search went by,
And then he slunk away.

Artevelde.
Long must thou wait,
Earl, ere thou see thy heritage again!
Bring Gilbert Matthew forth.
[He is brought in bound.
So, Gilbert Matthew!

Gilbert.
Young upstart, what wouldst thou with Gilbert Matthew?

Artevelde.
Be patient, Sir; you'll know it. Where art thou,
Frans Ackerman? Despatch ere break of day
A hundred waggons on the road to Ghent
Laden with corn and wine. That done, send forth
To Damme and Sluys and empty out their stores
For a fresh convoy. Have me men prepared
To ride to Ypres, Courtray, Cassel, Bergues,
To Poperinguen and to Roussaelere,
And bid the Mayor and Burghers of each town
Send me its keys. Well met, bold Van den Bosch!

Enter Van den Bosch, with Followers.
Well met at Bruges, my brethren in arms!
As ye were brave, so be ye temperate now.
Let not the small-crafts suffer. Spare their blood,
For they but follow'd in the train of power
And many wished us in their hearts no ill.
To all shall plunder plentifully flow
Out of the coffers of the rich; but him
That spills a foreigner's or craftsman's blood
I mulct of all his share, and, this night past,
The price (not willingly so long postponed,
But needfully for this tumultuous night)
Of all blood-guiltiness is paid in blood.
Take heed of what I say; ye ought to know
For good or ill my promises are kept.
The debt of vengeance justly due to Ghent
Ye shall behold acquitted where ye stand.
[Turning to Occo and Gilbert Matthew.
Look, Van den Bosch, upon your former friends,
And say what they deserve.
Van den Bosch.
In this world death,
And after that let Satan tend his own.
I should commend their bodies to the rack
But that I'm loth so long to keep their souls
Out of hell-fire.

Occo.
Thy heart was ever hard;
But, Artevelde, thou wilt not stain thy hands
By killing in cold blood two helpless men!
If thou'rt a soldier, do not such a deed.
Soldiers by soldiers in the field are slain,
Not murder'd in the market-place.

Artevelde.
Agreed;
And if the name of soldier can be claim'd
By both or one of you, ye shall not die.
Bring forth the Friar.
[A Friar is brought forward.
Save you, holy Sir!
Say in the face of these two that stand here
That which thou said'st to me.

Friar.
Sir, it was this:
Here in the hospital expired but now
Of many wounds a Florentine, by name
Romero, who, repentant ere his death,
Confessed an impious contract, for a bribe
From Gilbert Matthew and Sir Guy of Occo,
To kill the Lord of Arlon, for some spite
That each had to him.

Occo.
Miscreant, he lied!
Whoe'er procured him, it was never I.
Master Van Artevelde, and you, my Lord,
Believe not I would sin in such a sort.
Have mercy on a miserable man!
[Falls on his knees.
Oh God! there's some mistake, or else he lied.

Gilbert.
How say'st thou that he lied? Sirs, it is true,
I with this craven beggarly companion—
Of whose accompliceship to do the deed
And not the deed itself I speak with shame—
I with this caitiff truly did conspire
For good and ample reasons to remove
Sir Walter D'Arlon from this troublesome world.
Such chances as no prudence could forefend
Have baulk'd my purpose and I go myself.
Wherefore, Sirs, God be with you! To the block!
What are ye dreaming of, ye sluggish hinds?

Artevelde
(signing to the men-at-arms who lead out Gilbert Matthew).
Ay, Gilbert, God forgive thee for thy sins!
Thou steppest statelily the only walk
Thou hast to take on earth. Full many a man
That lives a godlier life less bravely dies.
Take forth Sir Guy of Occo.

Occo.
Hear me yet.
If through pretext of justice I am doomed,
What justice is it that believes not me
And yet believes such villains as Romero
And Gilbert Matthew? Find a credible tongue
To testify against me ere you strike.

Enter Van Ryk, conducting Adriana.
Artevelde.
Behold the witness! Look upon this face
And bid death welcome. Lead him to the block.

Adriana.
Oh, spare him; speak not now of shedding blood,
Now, in the hour that Heaven has rescued us;
Vengeance is God's, whose function take not thou;
Spare him, Van Artevelde, oh! spare his life!

Artevelde.
Not though an Angel plead. Vengeance is God's;
But God doth oftentimes dispense it here
By human ministration. To my hands
He render'd victory this eventful day
For uses of His own, and this is one.
Let Flanders judge me from my deeds to-night,
That I from this time forth will do His will;
Justice with mercy tempering where I may,
But executing always. Take him hence.
[Occo is led out.
Now, Adriana, I am wholly thine.