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Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software. The text has not been manually corrected and should not be relied on to be an accurate representation of the item.
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Untitled Article
Gave him such power on rne : I left my country—I fled the soil they would have chained me to , And joined the foreign wars . In ray first fight I cleft a Noble to the waist . How now ! I cried : is this a Serf ? Another fell :
'Twas strange a Serf should mow down knights like grass—My fortune smiled—I rose to a command ; And still was conqueror , till my fame so grew That Nobles flocked to fight beneath my banner . Oh ! then how the Serf smiled ! I join'd the Council , And baffled haughty princes , crafty statesmen , —
All of most noble blood ;—yet none could stand Before the Serf—until at length this Earl , Even Charles himself , besought my powerful arm , On Baldwin ' s death , to prop his infant cause ; — I placed him on his throne—I—I—Bertulphe ! I placed him—held him there ! Now tell me , boy , of
Where is the ^ i rop blood within these veins That speaks its baseness ? or , if none , confess Heaven made no Serfs , but only man ' s device To trample on his fellows ! Bouchard—I confess That you are great—wise—I believe you good ! But you have wronged me foully—sunk me—crushed me—Blasted the honour of my noble
house—Degraded—lost me . — Heavens ! Bouchard a Serf !—Villain ! this was a plot from the beginning—A trick to gild with my more noble name
Thine own base metal , —and you angled for me With a girl ' s smiles ;—your daughter for a bait ! Bertulphe [ with Jury . ]— Bouchard ! liut no , you are angry .- —I forgive
you'Twaa not your heart spoke that ; go , 1 forgive you . Bouchard . —Oh ! you are wondrous calm amid the ruin That you have wrought ! yet why should it seem strange , — 'Tib nature in you—you were bred to it .
Go , do your master ' s bidding , —dig- his fields , — Crouch , fawn , and flatter for the crust that feeds you ! I cannot do this—I was born a Noble ; My father ' s blood is stirring * in tny veins , And bids me nobly die ! — Bertulphe , farewell ! ^_ going . ~ Bertulphe . —Stay !—I command you . Bouchard . —What ! a . Serf already To he com inn tided !
The last exclamation is a fine instance of the " truth of things . " Bouchard , the conventional nobleman , confounded by the spirit of his natural superior— -the conventional serfchanges place with him in imagination , lost to the blood of all his ancient line ! The scene continues in the same noble strain . Bertulphe then rates his conduct very justly as that of a weak 4 < and whining girl / ' and reminds tne unfortunate young man who
Untitled Article
136 The Provost of Bruges *
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Citation
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Monthly Repository (1806-1838) and Unitarian Chronicle (1832-1833), March 2, 1836, page 136, in the Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition (2008; 2018) ncse.ac.uk/periodicals/mruc/issues/vm2-ncseproduct2655/page/8/
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