Now behold an argument,--This man hath
shed blood, even Conrad; ergo, as he saith himself, ye, if ye are
men, shall shed his blood. Doth he not himself say ergo? Hath he
not said ergo to the poor saints, to your sons and your daughters,
whom he hath burned in the fire to Moloch? 'Ergo, thou art a
heretic'--'Ergo, thou shalt burn.' Is he not therefore convicted
out of his own mouth? Arise, therefore, be valiant--for this day he
is delivered into your hand!
[Chanting heard in the distance.]
Peasant. Hush! here the psalm-singers come!
[Conrad enters on a mule, chanting the Psalter, Gerard following.]
Con. My peace with you, my children!
1st Voice. Psalm us no psalms; bless us no devil's blessings:
Your balms will break our heads. [A murmur rises.]
2d Voice. You are welcome, sir; we are a-waiting for you.
3d Voice. Has he been shriven to-day?
4th Voice. Where is your ergo, Master Conrad? Faugh!
How both the fellows smell of smoke!
5th Voice. A strange leech he, to suck, and suck, and suck,
And look no fatter for't!
Old Woman. Give me back my sons!
Old Man.
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