Collected Works (Vol. III)

70 A DRAMATIC VERSION OF maiden love may work on maiden modesty? Ah, fall deeper, ye blessed shadows! Ye are light enough for Florimond de Champ- divers to move toward his bliss ! [Motse of clashing armour, ribald laughter, &°-c. Enter the Watch, R., avrunk. A WATCHMAN. Ho, boys! a gay night for thieves. FLORIMOND. Curse the sots ! [ Crouches back in the shadow. SECOND WATCHMAN. ( Szzes) The soldier’s life is short and merry, His mistress’ lips are ripe as a cherry, Then drink, drink ! The guns roar out and the swords flash clean, And the soldier sleepeth under the green, Oh, the soldier’s life for me ! But a scurvy night it is, comrades, when the streets are slippery, and the wine cold in a man’s belly, and never a little white rabbit of a woman scuttling along in the dark. THIRD WATCHMAN. What ho! my lads! MHere’s a scurvy Frenchman skulking along. What, will you make your lass attend you, master? FLORIMOND. Loose me, knave, I am for England, and a Captain in your army, or rather that of Burgundy—if you will be precise. FIRST WATCHMAN. What do you here, without a lantern, scaring honest folk ? FLORIMOND. Honesty is no word for to-night. Will you the loyal man’s word? SECOND WATCIIMAN, That’s it, my gallant cock! The word! FLORIMOND, Burgundy and freedom. THIRD) WATCHMAN. So! Give a crown to the poor watchmen then to drink your Excellency’s health, and luck to your honour’s love. Ah! we're gay when we’re young—I’ve a sweetheart myself. FLORIMOND, And now be off! [Grves money. Lxeunt. Cold !—the devil! Ah! but to-night— at last I shall touch my Blanche. May Blanche warm me well with a hearty kiss! The little white cat! Three months! And I’ve not so much as exchanged a word. There must bean end to all that. Faith, but she makes me think of Biondetta, that I knew in the Italian campaign. O my Blanche! One moment, and I am in thine arms! Blanche! Sweet, sweet Blanche. O little white-faced rose of France. A soldier’s heart is thine —a soldier’s arms shall be round thee in a moment! ’Tis a fine thing this love—the strong true abiding love ofa brave man. How like little Florise her voice is when she sings ! [By thts fool's talk he loses his oppor- tunity. Enter DENYS. DENYs. Cold is no word for it. [Shudders.] Where the devil have I got to now? Jad I but vowed St. Denys a candle and put the same in my pocket, I would not now be in the dark. Here was a lane, and the folk had called it Wolf’s Throat, and now here’s a door and devil a name toit. Fool I was to stay winebibbing with Cousin Henri, and triple knave he to send me forth without a boy and a light. True! he was under the table—and seven times fool was I not to join him there.