University of Virginia Library

Scene III.

—The interior of a tent.—Sir Fleureant of Heurlée is seated at a table on which wine and refreshments are placed. Guards are seen without, walking backwards and forwards before the doors of the tent.
Sir Fleureant.
I oft before have clomb by rotten boughs
To frail tree-tops; but this will be the last.
Were it to do again, ten thousand Dukes
With all their wealth of folly and want of wit
Should tempt me not to such fool-hardihood.
Here is the end of Fleureant of Heurlée!
I know it; for my heart is dead already—
An omen that did cross me ne'er before
In any jeopardy of life.
Cecile enters with a Friar.
This wind
Is cold, methinks, that comes through yonder door.
I thought I had a cloak.

Cecile.
The Friar, Sir.

Sir Fleureant.
Well, this is strange; I surely had a cloak.

Cecile.
Sir, would you see the Friar?

Sir Fleureant.
Eh? what? who?

Cecile.
The Friar, Sir.

Sir Fleureant.
What Friar?—oh, your pardon!
What? is it time?

Friar.
This wench, my son, brought word
That you would fain confess yourself o'ernight
And then make merry like a noble heart
Till break of day that brings your latter end.

Sir Fleureant.
What is't o'clock?

Cecile.
I have not told the chimes
Since midnight.

Sir Fleureant.
Yes, I wish'd myself confess'd;
But, by your leave, not now!—my eyes are heavy
And I was fain to wrap me in my cloak
And lay me down to sleep as you came in.
I think I had a cloak.

Cecile.
'Tis here, Sir, here.

Sir Fleureant.
Ah, there it is. The air, I think, is sharp.

Friar.
'Tis a cold air, my son, a cold and dry;
But here's an element that's hot and moist
To keep the other out. I drink your health.

Sir Fleureant.
My health! ha! ha! I'll lay me down and sleep,
For I've a mortal weariness upon me.
My body's or my soul's health do you drink?

Friar.
I drink, Sir, to your good repose.

Sir Fleureant.
I thank you;
I shall sleep sound to-morrow.

Cecile.
Put this cushion
Under your head.

Sir Fleureant.
Ah, you are kind, wench, now;
You're not so saucy as you were. So,—there.

Friar.
And this I drink to your dear soul's salvation.

Cecile.
I'd tend you all night long with all my heart
If it might do you good.

Sir Fleureant.
Good night, good night.

Friar.

Cecile.
Be not so loud, good Friar, let him sleep.
He'll pass the time more easy.

Friar.
Let him sleep!
What hinders him to sleep?—not I, my lass;
I've shriven many a sinner for the gallows;
There's nothing wakes them but a lusty tug.
I'd rather he should sleep than you, sweet wench;
What, are you wakeful? Ah, you fat ribs! Ah!

Cecile.
Begone, you filthy Friar! At your tricks
With here a dead man lying, one may say,
Amongst one's feet!

Friar.
Who's dead, my merry soul?
Not I, nor near it yet.

Cecile.
Out! ancient blotch!

Enter Artevelde.
Artevelde
(stumbling against Sir Fleureant, who wakes and sits up).
So, what is this? what wrangle ye about?
What mak'st thou, Friar, with the wench?

Friar.
Who, I?

Cecile.
Ay, tell his Highness how you'd use a maid.

Friar.
Alack! we Churchmen, Sir, have much ado!
We are but men, and women will be women.
Fie, they are naughty jades!—sluts all! sluts all!
Fie, how they steal upon our idle hours!

Cecile.
Thou liest, thou scandalous Friar—

Artevelde.
Soft, Cecile!

Friar.
Oh, she's a light-skirts!—yea, and at this present
A little, as you see, concern'd with liquor.

Cecile.
A light-skirts! If it were not for thy cowl
I have that lesson at my fingers' ends
Should teach thee how to lay thy carrion's sins
Upon a wholesome maid.

Artevelde.
Peace, peace, I say!
I would discourse some matters with this Knight.
Leave us together. Friar, go thy ways;
Thy hands are not too clean. I know the wench;
She would not tempt thee. Get thee gone, I say.

Friar.
My Lord, the peace of God be with your Grace,
And with this Knight, and with that sinful woman.

[Exit.
Cecile.
I thank your Highness—Oh the mouldy knave!
I thank you, Sir. Good-even to your Grace.

[Exit.
Artevelde.
Good-night, Cecile.—Sir, I disturb'd your rest;
I saw not that you lay there.

Sir Fleureant.
Oh, my Lord,
It matters not; to-morrow I shall lie
Where you will not disturb me.

Artevelde.
So you think.

Sir Fleureant.
So you, my Lord, have said.

Artevelde.
You stand condemn'd;
Yet 'tis a word that I would fain unsay.

Sir Fleureant.
You are most kind; the word was ever rife
You were a merciful man and fearing God,
And God is good to such and prospers them;
And if my life it please you now to spare
You may find mercy for yourself in straits
According as you show it.

Artevelde.
Nay, thy life
Is justly forfeited: which if I spare
It is not that I look for God's reward
In sparing crime; since justice is God's due.
Thou hast an intercessor, to whose prayers
I grant thy life, absolving thee not freely,
But on conditions.

Sir Fleureant.
Whatsoe'er they be
I will be bound by oath and honour's pledge
Most faithfully to fulfil them.

Artevelde.
Well thou may'st.
'Tis but to pay thy debt of grateful care
To her whose charity redeems thy life
That I would bind thee. At the prayer much press'd
Of thy Lord's sometime Lady thou art spared.

Sir Fleureant.
I'm bound to her for ever.

Artevelde.
Sometime hence
Mischances may befall her. Though I trust,
And with good reason, that my arms are proof,
Yet is the tide of war unsteady still;
And should my hope be wreck'd upon some reef
Of adverse fortune, there is cause to fear
Her former Lord, thy master, who suspects
Uneasily her faith, in victory's pride
Would give his vengeance and his jealousy
Free way to her destruction. In such hour,
Should it arrive, thou might'st befriend the Lady
As in thy present peril she doth thee.

Sir Fleureaint.
I were ungrateful past all reach of words
That speak of baseness and ingratitude
Should I not hold my life and hand and heart
Purely at her behest from this time forth.
And truly in conjunctures such as those
Your Highness hath foreseen, to aid her flight
Were service which no Fleming could perform
How true soe'er his heart, and yet to me
It were an easy task.

Artevelde.
I trust the day
Will never come that puts thy pledge to proof;
But should it come, I charge thee on thy faith
And duty as a Knight, be stout and true.
Prudence, meantime, demands that thou remain
In close confinement.

Sir Fleureant.
As you please, my Lord.

Artevelde.
(after a pause)
What, watch there, ho!
Enter two Guards.
You will give passage to Sir Fleureant
To go at large. My mind you see is changed;
It ever was my way, and shall be still,
When I do trust a man to trust him wholly.
Thou shalt not quit my camp; but that word given,
Thou art at large within it.

Sir Fleureant.
Sir, your trust
Shall not appear misplaced.

Artevelde.
Give thee good rest!
And better dreams than those I woke thee from.

Sir Fleureant.
With grateful heart I say, my Lord, God keep you!