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. Jetter. It is a great bore. Whenever it comes into their worships' heads to break into my house, and I am sitting there at my work, humming a French psalm, thinking nothing about it, neither good nor bad--singing it just because it is in my throat;--forthwith I'm a heretic, and am clapped into prison. Or if I am passing through the country, and stand near a crowd listening to a new preacher, one of those who have come from Germany; instantly I'm called a rebel, and am in danger of losing my head! Have you ever heard one of these preachers? Soest. Brave fellows! Not long ago, I heard one of them preach in a field, before thousands and thousands of people. A different sort of dish he gave us from that of our humdrum preachers, who, from the pulpit, choke their hearers with scraps of Latin. He spoke from his heart; told us how we had till now been led by the nose, how we had been kept in darkness, and how we might procure more light;--ay, and he proved it all out of the Bible. Jetter. There may be something in it. I always said as much, and have often pondered over the matter. It has long been running in my head. Buyck. All the people run after them. Soest. No wonder, since they hear both what is good and what is new. Jetter. And what is it all about? Surely they might let every one preach after his own fashion. Buyck. Come, sirs! While you are talking, you; forget the wine and the Prince of Orange. Jetter. We must not forget him. He's a very wall of defence. In thinking of him, one fancies, that if one could only hide behind him, the devil himself could not get at one. Here's to William of Orange! Hurrah! All. Hurrah! Hurrah! Soest. Now, grey-beard, let's have your toast. Ruysum. Here's to old soldiers! To all soldiers! War for ever! Buyck. Bravo, old fellow. Here's to all soldiers. War for ever!