heaven that she had tripped, and broke her goose-neck, And left us heirs de facto. So, farewell. [Exit.]
Wal. A very pretty quarrel! matter enough To spoil a waggon-load of ash-staves on, And break a dozen fools’ backs across their cantlets. What’s Lewis doing?
Isen. Oh—befooled— Bewitched with dogs and horses, like an idiot Clutching his bauble, while a priceless jewel Sticks at his miry heels.
Wal. The boy’s no fool— As good a heart as hers, but somewhat given To hunt the nearest butterfly, and light The fire of fancy without hanging o’er it The porridge-pot of practice. He shall hear or—
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 dozen hamlets, where, with God’s help, I will show him a mansty or two, that shall astonish his delicate chivalry.
Isen. Oh, here’s your time! Speak to him, noble Walter. Stun his dull ears with praises of her grace; Prick his dull heart with shame at his own coldness. Oh right us, Count.
Wal. I will, I will: go in And dry your eyes. [Exeunt separately.]
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