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DEVIL. Ha, ha, ha! thou'rt a merry one! JACQ. And, sooth, thou'rt a right merry gentleman. DEVIL (smacking his lips). I like you. There's plenty of ripe mischief in ye! mischief! mischief! JACQ (wilfully). Mischief! ha, ha! I pray so. DEVIL. Pray so, do ye! H'm! have half a mind to take thee. JACQ. Take me! (Going.) I wish you good morrow, sir gentleman. DEVIL (following her). Stay! Hast ever been in love? JACQ. Tuh! not I; nor shall. DEVIL. Ha! hast no fancy for men, eh? JACQ. Why, I hate 'em, as such. DEVIL. That's right! that's capital! thou'rt the playfellow for me! (Leading her back.) The direst mischief i' the world is done by the women that hate men. And I - I hate women. JACQ (releasing herself). So saith the baker, yet I keep my distance when I go for the bread. DEVIL. Ha, ha! nay, I say sooth - I do most cordially hate women, as such. Come nearer! (Wheedlingly.) Don't be frightened of a gentleman. JACQ (approaching him cautiously). What would you? DEVIL (looking into her face). Upon my travels I have often lacked a young, fresh companion to jest with. Wilt be my page, vixen? JACQ. I! I am no boy. DEVIL. Nor of the other sex, sith thou hatest men. Yea, thou shalt be my page. JACQ (endeavouring to avoid his gaze, faintly). Let me hence! prithee! DEVIL. Thou shalt lead an easy life, lazy-bones. Thou shalt lie late; eat and drink till thou'rt surfeited. I will teach thee the lute - JACQ (in a tremble). What art thou? I - I fear thee! He grips her arm. JACQ. Ah - ! (Wincing.) Truly thou'rt a gentleman, for labour hath not blunted thy nails. DEVIL. Go. At five on the great dial, rummage beneath the straw where thou sleepest; thou wilt find boy's attire. By sundown present thyself at the castle as the Count of Foscano's page. JACQ (humbly). Oh, pardon me, my lord - but folks do know me here as a mere girl. DEVIL. After thou hast knotted the ties of thy new shoon, look you into a mirror; thou'lt not know thyself. (Playfully.) Shall call thee Jacques; (pinching her ear) mischievous little Jacques. Go. JACQ (leaving him, unsteadily - with a last effort). I will not obey thee. DEVIL (harshly). Wilt not! (Pointing towards the left.) The castle, at sundown!
She departs. He turns on his heel and enters the town-hall. The bells, silent upon JACQUELINE's singing, now ring out another peal. The populace troop back to the market-place. NICHOLAS DIRCKS comes from the town-hall in a great bustle. Servants bring a throne-chair and some smaller seats from the town-hall, and place them upon the ground in front of the steps. NICHOLAS. Come, knaves! range your seats deftly, and begone. (To the crowd.) Stand aloof there, they that would not have heads cracked by the lord Philip's most gallant pikemen! Two trumpeters come from the town-hall, and, standing upon the steps, blow blasts from their trumpets. The pikemen follow and force the crowd back until there is a clear way between the town-hall and the inn. The aldermen reappear, accompanied by a page who carries the wreath of flowers and the silver girdle. Then comes PHILIP; he descends the steps, followed by SAIDA, GUNTRAN, the DEVIL, and by some knights and dames of his retinue. PHILIP, though not in his first youth, is young and handsome, but is moody, restless, and impatient. SAIDA is a dark, sinuous, woman with flashing eyes. Her beauty, still sumptuous and alluring, is touched by time. PHILIP drops languidly into the throne-chair. SAIDA sits at his elbow upon a lower seat, slightly behind him. The DEVIL stands near her. The trumpeters blow two more blasts. NICHOLAS. Ho, Philip, Lord of Mirlemont, of Renaix, and of Acquelle! please Heaven and the Saints to grant thee long life! Lo you now! we, the Burgomaster, and the aldermen, and the office-holders of Mirlemont, have, at thy command, by proclamation, summoned hither the most personable females that do dwell within or without thy proper township. And truly these trusty eyne have ne'er before been so feasted and regaled - PHILIP. Good Burgomaster, but these beauties wither whiles you discourse. SAIDA (to herself).Would they could! DEVIL (to SAIDA). Eh, madam? SAIDA. I spake not, sir. NICHOLAS (at the inn door). Will display them instantly. (Loudly.) Ho, beauties, come forth! He enters the inn. GUNTRAN (to PHILIP). Prithee be at ease; this cattle hath been well fed, waiting your presence. PHILIP (rising in anger). Peace, Guntran! SAIDA (joining him as he paces to and fro). Guntran saith wisely - cattle. And must thou do thy branding, in sight of all! PHILIP. Why, thy tongue is as rough as Guntran's. Come, sweet gossip! I tell thee 'tis but wisdom to freshen the sense upon what this dull world holds of loveliness; the zest of life droops else. Therefore, an't will not pleasure thee, grudge me not the sight of this posse of simple maids with their sun-kissed faces and lips like the ripe fruit o' the earth. SAIDA. The low-born wenches! PHILIP. Nay, beauty maketh its own degree. SAIDA (in his ear). Am I not beautiful enow for thee? Thou didst once swear so. PHILIP. Truly. Yet, because a man wears a rare flower in's jerkin, shall he not glance at humbler blossoms by the wayside? SAIDA (intensely). My love, I cannot bear thee - to glance. PHILIP. Tush! Paragon, what has thou to fear? Ah! cometh the show. NICHOLAS returns, followed by the maidens competing for the prize of beauty. PHILIP and SAIDA return to their places, while NICHOLAS busies himself in marshalling the competitors. Then, under his direction, certain of them advance, in turn, and pass before PHILIP.
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