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I passed that canting baby on the stairs ;
The boy's no fool,-
Isen. And quickly, for there's treason in the wind. They 'll keep her dower, and send her home with shame Before the year's out.
Wal. Humph! Some are rogues enough for’t. As it falls out, I ride with him to-day.
Isen. Upon what business ?
Wal. Some shaveling has been telling him that there are heretics on his land; stadings, worshippers of black cats, baby-eaters, and such like. He consulted me; I told him it would be time enough to see to the heretics, when all the good Christians had been well looked after. I suppose the novelty of the thing smit him, for now
nothing will serve but I must ride with him round half a
I will, I will : go in
SCENE II. A Landscape in Thuringia. LEWIS and Walter riding. Lew. So all these lands are mine ; these yellow
meads-. These village-greens, and forest-fretted hills, With dizzy castles crowned. Mine? Why that word Is rich in promise, in the action bankrupt. What faculty of mine, save dream-fed pride Can these things fatten? Mass! I had forgot: I have a right to bark at trespassers. Rare privilege! While every fowl and bush, According to its destiny and nature, (Which were they truly mine, my power could alter) Will live, and grow, and take no thought of me. Those firs, before whose stealthy-marching ranks The world-old oaks still dwindle and retreat, If I could stay their poisoned frown, which cows The pale, shrunk underwood, and nestled seeds
Into an age of sleep, 'twere something; and those men
aleSoft bed, fair wife, gay horse, good steel.—Are they
Lew. How now? What need then of long discipline
Why these, if I but need, like stalled ox,
Lew. Alas! while each day blackens with fresh clouds,
Oh! plenty, Sir ;
Lew. I'll crowd my court and dais with men of God, As doth my peerless namesake, King of France. Wal. Priests, Sir? The Frenchman keeps two coun
sellors Worth any drove of priests. Lew.
And who are they? Wal. God and his lady-love. (Aside.) He 'll open at
thatLew. I could be that man's squire. Wal.
(Aside.) Again run riotNow for another cast; (Aloud.) If you'd sleep sound,
None, if you could trust them; But they are the people's creatures ; poor men give them Their power at the Church, and take it back at the ale
house : Then what's the friar to the starving peasant? Just what the abbot is to the greedy nobleA scarecrow to lear wolves. Go ask the churchplate, Safe in knight's cellars, how these priests are feared. Bruised reeds when you most need them.—No, my Lord; Copy them, trust them never. Lew.
Copy? wherein ? Wal.
In letting every man Do what he likes, and only seeing he does it As you do your work-well. That 's the Church secret For breeding towns, as fast as you breed roe-deer;