e can read in his face that he loves us; because
joyousness, open-heartedness, and good-nature, speak in his eyes;
because he possesses nothing that he does not share with him who needs
it, ay, and with him who needs it not. Long live Count Egmont! Buyck, it
is for you to give the first toast; give us your master's health.

Buyck. With all my heart; here's to Count Egmont! Hurrah!

Ruysum Conqueror of St. Quintin.

Buyck. The hero of Gravelines.

All. Hurrah!

Ruysum. St. Quintin was my last battle. I was hardly able to crawl
along, and could with difficulty carry my heavy rifle. I managed,
notwithstanding, to singe the skin of the French once more, and, as a
parting gift, received a grazing shot in my right leg.

Buyck. Gravelines! Ha, my friends, we had sharp work of it there!
The victory was all our own. Did not those French dogs carry fire and
desolation into the very heart of Flanders? We gave it them, however!
The old hard-listed veterans held out bravely for a while, but we pushed
on, fired away, and laid about us, till they made wry faces, and their
lines gave way. Then Egmont's horse was shot under him; and for a long
time we fought pell-mell, man to man, horse to horse, troop to troop,
on the broad, flat, sea-sand. Suddenly, as if from heaven, down came
the cannon shot from the mouth of the river, bang, bang, right into
the midst of the French. These were English, who, under Admiral Malin,
happened to be sailing past from Dunkirk. They did not help us much,
'tis true; they could only approach with their smallest vessels, and
that not near enough;--besides, their shot fell sometimes among our
troops. It did some good, however! It broke the French lines, and raised
our courage. Away it went. Helter-skelter! 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 hea