 | The Works of Sir Henry Taylor |  |
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
[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.
Who mounts the merry-go-round?
'Tis I, I, I,—and who be ye
That would mount the merry-go-round?
As e'er from Bordeaux came
I've made, and would in Ghentsmen's blood
Be bold to dip the same.
Who mounts the merry-go-round?
'Tis I, I, I,—and who may'st be
That would mount the merry-go-round?
As ever Ebro steel'd
Is this I've made, nor will't be stayed
By any Ghentsman's shield.
Who mounts the merry-go-round?
'Tis I, I, I,—and now let us see
Who mounts the merry-go-round.
My handicraft, for when
A Ghentsman's beard I shortly shear'd
It never grew again.
Who mounts the merry-go-round?
'Tis I, I, I,—and a priest was he
That would mount the merry-go-round.
And shall I be saved? he cried;
I gave him a kick, bade him ask Old Nick
And he should be satisfied.
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.
| The Works of Sir Henry Taylor | |