topsy-turvy! all struck dead, or forced into the water; the fellows were drowned the moment they tasted the water, while we Hollanders dashed in after them.  Being amphibious, we were as much in our element as frogs, and hacked away at the enemy, and shot them down as if they had been ducks.  The few who struggled through, were struck dead in their flight by the peasant women, armed with hoes and pitchforks.  His Gallic majesty was compelled at once to hold out his paw and make peace.  And that peace you owe to us, to the great Egmont.

All.  Hurrah, for the great Egmont!  Hurrah!  Hurrah!

Jetter.  Had they but appointed him Regent, instead of Margaret of Parma!

Soest.  Not so!  Truth is truth!  I’ll not hear Margaret abused.  Now it is my turn.  Long live our gracious lady!

All.  Long life to her!

Soest.  Truly, there are excellent women in that family.  Long live the
Regent!

Jetter.  Prudent is she, and moderate in all she does; if she would only not hold so fast and stiffly with the priests.  It is partly her fault, too, that we have the fourteen new mitres in the land.  Of what use are they, I should like to know?  Why, that foreigners may be shoved into the good benefices, where formerly abbots were chosen out of the chapters!  And we’re to believe it’s for the sake of religion.  We know better.  Three bishops were enough for us; things went on decently and reputably.  Now each must busy himself as if he were needed; and this gives rise every moment to dissensions and ill-will.  And the more you agitate the matter, so much the worse it grows. (They drink.)

Soest.  But it was the will of the king; she cannot alter it, one way or another.

Jetter.  Then we may not even sing the new psalms; but ribald songs, as many as we please.  And why?  There is heresy in them, they say, and heaven knows what.  I have sung some of them, however; they are new, to be sure, but I see no harm in them.

Buyck.  Ask their leave, forsooth!  In our province, we sing just what we please.  That’s because Count Egmont is our stadtholder, who does not trouble himself about such matters.  In Ghent, Ypres, and throughout the whole of Flanders, anybody sings them that chooses. (Aloud to Ruysum.) There is nothing more harmless than a spiritual song—­Is there, father?

Ruysum.  What, indeed!  It is a godly work, and truly edifying.

Jetter.  They say, however, that they are not of the right sort, not of their sort, and, since it is dangerous, we had better leave them alone.  The officers of the Inquisition are always lurking and spying about; many an honest fellow has already fallen into their clutches.  They had not gone so far as to meddle with conscience!  If they will not allow me to do what I like, they might at least let me think and sing as I please.

Soest.  The Inquisition won’t do here.  We are not made like the Spaniards, to let our consciences be tyrannized over.  The nobles must look to it, and clip its wings betimes.