ACT III.
SCENE I.—THE KING'S PALACE. LONDON.KING EDWARDdying on a couch, and by him standing theQUEEN, HAROLD,ARCHBISHOP STIGAND, GURTH, LEOFWIN, ARCHBISHOP ALDRED, ALDWYTH,andEDITH.
STIGAND. Sleeping or dying there? If this be death,Then our great Council wait to crown thee King—Come hither, I have a power; [ToHAROLD.They call me near, for I am close to theeAnd England—I, old shrivell'd Stigand, I,Dry as an old wood-fungus on a dead tree,I have a power!See here this little key about my neck!There lies a treasure buried down in Ely:If e'er the Norman grow too hard for thee,Ask me for this at thy most need, son Harold,At thy most need—not sooner.HAROLD. So I will.STIGAND. Red gold—a hundred purses—yea, and more!If thou canst make a wholesome use of theseTo chink against the Norman, I do believeMy old crook'd spine would bud out two young wingsTo fly to heaven straight with.HAROLD. Thank thee, father!Thou art English, Edward too is English now,He hath clean repented of his Normanism.STIGAND. Ay, as the libertine repents who cannotMake done undone, when thro' his dying senseShrills 'lost thro' thee.' They have built their castles here;Our priories are Norman; the Norman adderHath bitten us; we are poison'd: our dear EnglandIs demi-Norman. He!—[Pointing toKING EDWARD,sleeping.HAROLD. I would I wereAs holy and as passionless as he!That I might rest as calmly! Look at him—The rosy face, and long down-silvering beard,The brows unwrinkled as a summer mere.—STIGAND. A summer mere with sudden wreckful gustsFrom a side-gorge. Passionless? How he flamedWhen Tostig's anger'd earldom flung him, nay,He fain had calcined all NorthumbriaTo one black ash, but that thy patriot passionSiding with our great Council against Tostig,Out-passion'd his! Holy? ay, ay, forsooth,A conscience for his own soul, not his realm;A twilight conscience lighted thro' a chink;Thine by the sun; nay, by some sun to be,When all the world hath learnt to speak the truth,And lying were self-murder by that stateWhich was the exception.HAROLD. That sun may God speed!STIGAND. Come, Harold, shake the cloud off!HAROLD. Can I, father?Our Tostig parted cursing me and England;Our sister hates us for his banishment;He hath gone to kindle Norway against England,And Wulfnoth is alone in Normandy.For when I rode with William down to Harfleur,'Wulfnoth is sick,' he said; 'he cannot follow;'Then with that friendly-fiendly smile of his,'We have learnt to love him, let him a little longerRemain a hostage for the loyaltyOf Godwin's house.' As far as touches WulfnothI that so prized plain word and naked truthHave sinn'd against it—all in vain.LEOFWIN. Good brother,By all the truths that ever priest hath preach'd,Of all the lies that ever men have lied,Thine is the pardonablest.HAROLD. May be so!I think it so, I think I am a foolTo think it can be otherwise than so.STIGAND. Tut, tut, I have absolved thee: dost thou scorn me,Because I had my Canterbury pallium,From one whom they dispoped?HAROLD. No, Stigand, no!STIGAND. Is naked truth actable in true life?I have heard a saying of thy father Godwin,That, were a man of state nakedly true,Men would but take him for the craftier liar.LEOFWIN. Be men less delicate than the Devil himself?I thought that naked Truth would shame the Devil,The Devil is so modest.GURTH. He never said it!LEOFWIN. Be thou not stupid-honest, brother Gurth!HAROLD. Better to be a liar's dog, and holdMy master honest, than believe that lyingAnd ruling men are fatal twins that cannotMove one without the other. Edward wakes!—Dazed—he hath seen a vision.EDWARD. The green tree!Then a great Angel past along the highestCrying 'the doom of England,' and at onceHe stood beside me, in his grasp a swordOf lightnings, wherewithal he cleft the treeFrom off the bearing trunk, and hurl'd it from himThree fields away, and then he dash'd and drench'd,He dyed, he soak'd the trunk with human blood,And brought the sunder'd tree again, and set itStraight on the trunk, that thus baptized in bloodGrew ever high and higher, beyond my seeing,And shot out sidelong boughs across the deepThat dropt themselves, and rooted in far islesBeyond my seeing: and the great Angel roseAnd past again along the highest crying'The doom of England!'—Tostig, raise my head![Falls back senseless.HAROLD (raising him).Let Harold serve for Tostig!QUEEN. Harold servedTostig so ill, he cannot serve for Tostig!Ay, raise his head, for thou hast laid it low!The sickness of our saintly king, for whomMy prayers go up as fast as my tears fall,I well believe, hath mainly drawn itselfFrom lack of Tostig—thou hast banish'd him.HAROLD. Nay—but the council, and the king himself.QUEEN. Thou hatest him, hatest him.HAROLD (coldly).Ay—Stigand, unriddleThis vision, canst thou?STIGAND. Dotage!EDWARD (starting up).It is finish'd.I have built the Lord a house—the Lord hath dweltIn darkness. I have built the Lord a house—Palms, flowers, pomegranates, golden cherubimWith twenty-cubit wings from wall to wall—I have built the Lord a house—sing, Asaph! clashThe cymbal, Heman! blow the trumpet, priest!Fall, cloud, and fill the house—lo! my two pillars,Jachin and Boaz!— [SeeingHAROLDandGURTH.Harold, Gurth,—where am I?Where is the charter of our Westminster?STIGAND. It lies beside thee, king, upon thy bed.EDWARD. Sign, sign at once—take, sign it, Stigand, Aldred!Sign it, my good son Harold, Gurth, and Leofwin,Sign it, my queen!ALL. We have sign'd it.EDWARD. It is finish'd!The kingliest Abbey in all Christian lands,The lordliest, loftiest minster ever builtTo Holy Peter in our English isle!Let me be buried there, and all our kings,And all our just and wise and holy menThat shall be born hereafter. It is finish'd!Hast thou had absolution for thine oath? [ToHAROLD.HAROLD. Stigand hath given me absolution for it.EDWARD. Stigand is not canonical enoughTo save thee from the wrath of Norman Saints.STIGAND. Norman enough! Be there no Saints of EnglandTo help us from their brethren yonder?EDWARD. Prelate,The Saints are one, but those of NormanlandAre mightier than our own. Ask it of Aldred.[ToHAROLD.ALDRED. It shall be granted him, my king; for heWho vows a vow to strangle his own motherIs guiltier keeping this, than breaking it.EDWARD. O friends, I shall not overlive the day.STIGAND. Why then the throne is empty. Who inherits?For tho' we be not bound by the king's voiceIn making of a king, yet the king's voiceIs much toward his making. Who inherits?Edgar the Atheling?EDWARD. No, no, but Harold.I love him: he hath served me: none but heCan rule all England. Yet the curse is on himFor swearing falsely by those blessed bones;He did not mean to keep his vow.HAROLD. Not meanTo make our England Norman.EDWARD. There spake Godwin,Who hated all the Normans; but their SaintsHave heard thee, Harold.EDITH. Oh! my lord, my king!He knew not whom he sware by.EDWARD. Yea, I knowHe knew not, but those heavenly ears have heard,Their curse is on him; wilt thou bring another,Edith, upon his head?EDITH. No, no, not I.EDWARD. Why then, thou must not wed him.HAROLD. Wherefore, wherefore?EDWARD. O son, when thou didst tell me of thine oath,I sorrow'd for my random promise givenTo yon fox-lion. I did not dream thenI should be king.—My son, the Saints are virgins;They love the white rose of virginity,The cold, white lily blowing in her cell:I have been myself a virgin; and I swareTo consecrate my virgin here to heaven—The silent, cloister'd, solitary life,A life of life-long prayer against the curseThat lies on thee and England.HAROLD. No, no, no.EDWARD. Treble denial of the tongue of flesh,Like Peter's when he fell, and thou wilt haveTo wail for it like Peter. O my son!Are all oaths to be broken then, all promisesMade in our agony for help from heaven?Son, there is one who loves thee: and a wife,What matters who, so she be serviceableIn all obedience, as mine own hath been:God bless thee, wedded daughter.[Laying his hand on theQUEEN'Shead.QUEEN. Bless thou tooThat brother whom I love beyond the rest,My banish'd Tostig.EDWARD. All the sweet Saints bless him!Spare and forbear him, Harold, if he comes!And let him pass unscathed; he loves me, Harold!Be kindly to the Normans left among us,Who follow'd me for love! and dear son, swearWhen thou art king, to see my solemn vowAccomplish'd.HAROLD. Nay, dear lord, for I have swornNot to swear falsely twice.EDWARD. Thou wilt not swear?HAROLD. I cannot.EDWARD. Then on thee remains the curse,Harold, if thou embrace her: and on thee,Edith, if thou abide it,—[TheKINGswoons;EDITHfalls and kneels by the couch.STIGAND. He hath swoon'd!Death?... no, as yet a breath.HAROLD. Look up! look up!Edith!ALDRED. Confuse her not; she hath begunHer life-long prayer for thee.ALDWYTH. O noble Harold,I would thou couldst have sworn.HAROLD. For thine own pleasure?ALDWYTH. No, but to please our dying king, and thoseWho make thy good their own—all England, Earl.ALDRED.Iwould thou couldst have sworn. Our holy kingHath given his virgin lamb to Holy ChurchTo save thee from the curse.HAROLD. Alas! poor man,Hispromise brought it on me.ALDRED. O good son!That knowledge made him all the carefullerTo find a means whereby the curse might glanceFrom thee and England.HAROLD. Father, we so loved—ALDRED. The more the love, the mightier is the prayer;The more the love, the more acceptableThe sacrifice of both your loves to heaven.No sacrifice to heaven, no help from heaven;That runs thro' all the faiths of all the world.And sacrifice there must be, for the kingIs holy, and hath talk'd with God, and seenA shadowing horror; there are signs in heaven—HAROLD. Your comet came and went.ALDRED. And signs on earth!Knowest thou Senlac hill?HAROLD. I know all Sussex;A good entrenchment for a perilous hour!ALDRED. Pray God that come not suddenly! There is oneWho passing by that hill three nights ago—He shook so that he scarce could out with it—Heard, heard—HAROLD. The wind in his hair?ALDRED. A ghostly hornBlowing continually, and faint battle-hymns,And cries, and clashes, and the groans of men;And dreadful shadows strove upon the hill,And dreadful lights crept up from out the marsh—Corpse-candles gliding over nameless graves—HAROLD. At Senlac?ALDRED. Senlac.EDWARD (waking).Senlac! Sanguelac,The Lake of Blood!STIGAND. This lightning before deathPlays on the word,—and Normanizes too!HAROLD. Hush, father, hush!EDWARD. Thou uncanonical fool,Wiltthouplay with the thunder? North and SouthThunder together, showers of blood are blownBefore a never-ending blast, and hissAgainst the blaze they cannot quench—a lake,A sea of blood—we are drown'd in blood—for GodHas fill'd the quiver, and Death has drawn the bow—Sanguelac! Sanguelac! the arrow! the arrow! [Dies.STIGAND. It is the arrow of death in his own heart—And our great Council wait to crown thee King.
SCENE II.—IN THE GARDEN. THE KING'S HOUSE NEAR LONDON.
EDITH. Crown'd, crown'd and lost, crown'd King—and lost to me!(Singing.)Two young lovers in winter weather,None to guide them,Walk'd at night on the misty heather;Night, as black as a raven's feather;Both were lost and found together,None beside them.That is the burthen of it—lost and foundTogether in the cruel river SwaleA hundred years ago; and there's another,Lost, lost, the light of day,To which the lover answers lovingly'I am beside thee.'Lost, lost, we have lost the way.'Love, I will guide thee.'Whither, O whither? into the river,Where we two may be lost together,And lost for ever? 'Oh! never, oh! never,Tho' we be lost and be found together.'Some think they loved within the pale forbiddenBy Holy Church: but who shall say? the truthWas lost in that fierce North, wheretheywere lost,Where all good things are lost, where Tostig lostThe good hearts of his people. It is Harold!EnterHAROLD.Harold the King!HAROLD. Call me not King, but Harold.EDITH. Nay, thou art King!HAROLD. Thine, thine, or King or churl!My girl, thou hast been weeping: turn not thouThy face away, but rather let me beKing of the moment to thee, and commandThat kiss my due when subject, which will makeMy kingship kinglier to me than to reignKing of the world without it.EDITH. Ask me not,Lest I should yield it, and the second curseDescend upon thine head, and thou be onlyKing of the moment over England.HAROLD. Edith,Tho' somewhat less a king to my true selfThan ere they crown'd me one, for I have lostSomewhat of upright stature thro' mine oath,Yet thee I would not lose, and sell not thouOur living passion for a dead man's dream;Stigand believed he knew not what he spake.Oh God! I cannot help it, but at timesThey seem to me too narrow, all the faithsOf this grown world of ours, whose baby eyeSaw them sufficient. Fool and wise, I fearThis curse, and scorn it. But a little light!—And on it falls the shadow of the priest;Heaven yield us more! for better, Woden, allOur cancell'd warrior-gods, our grim Walhalla,Eternal war, than that the Saints at peaceThe Holiest of our Holiest one should beThis William's fellow-tricksters;—better dieThan credit this, for death is death, or elseLifts us beyond the lie. Kiss me—thou art notA holy sister yet, my girl, to fearThere might be more than brother in my kiss,And more than sister in thine own.EDITH. I dare not.HAROLD. Scared by the church—'Love for a whole life long'When was that sung?EDITH. Here to the nightingales.HAROLD. Their anthems of no church, how sweet they are!Nor kingly priest, nor priestly king to crossTheir billings ere they nest.EDITH. They are but of spring,They fly the winter change—not so with us—No wings to come and go.HAROLD. But wing'd souls flyingBeyond all change and in the eternal distanceTo settle on the Truth.EDITH. They are not so true,They change their mates.HAROLD. Do they? I did not know it.EDITH. They say thou art to wed the Lady Aldwyth.HAROLD. They say, they say.EDITH. If this be politic,And well for thee and England—and for her—Care not for me who love thee.GURTH (calling). Harold, Harold!HAROLD. The voice of Gurth! (EnterGURTH.)Good even, my good brother!GURTH. Good even, gentle Edith.EDITH. Good even, Gurth.GURTH. Ill news hath come! Our hapless brother, Tostig—He, and the giant King of Norway, HaroldHardrada—Scotland, Ireland, Iceland, Orkney,Are landed North of Humber, and in a fieldSo packt with carnage that the dykes and brooksWere bridged and damm'd with dead, have overthrownMorcar and Edwin.HAROLD. Well then, we must fight.How blows the wind?GURTH. Against St. ValeryAnd William.HAROLD. Well then, we will to the North.GURTH. Ay, but worse news: this William sent to Rome,Swearing thou swarest falsely by his Saints:The Pope and that Archdeacon HildebrandHis master, heard him, and have sent him backA holy gonfanon, and a blessed hairOf Peter, and all France, all Burgundy,Poitou, all Christendom is raised against thee;He hath cursed thee, and all those who fight for thee,And given thy realm of England to the bastard.HAROLD. Ha! ha!EDITH. Oh! laugh not!... Strange and ghastly in the gloomAnd shadowing of this double thunder-cloudThat lours on England—laughter!HAROLD. No, not strange!This was old human laughter in old RomeBefore a Pope was born, when that which reign'dCall'd itself God.—A kindly renderingOf 'Render unto Caesar.' ... The Good Shepherd!Take this, and render that.GURTH. They have taken York.HAROLD. The Lord was God and came as man—the PopeIs man and comes as God.—York taken?GURTH. Yea,Tostig hath taken York!HAROLD. To York then. Edith,Hadst thou been braver, I had better bravedAll—but I love thee and thou me—and thatRemains beyond all chances and all churches,And that thou knowest.EDITH. Ay, but take back thy ring.It burns my hand—a curse to thee and me.I dare not wear it.[ProffersHAROLDthe ring, which he takes.HAROLD. But I dare. God with thee![ExeuntHAROLDandGURTH.EDITH. The King hath cursed him, if he marry me;The Pope hath cursed him, marry me or no!God help me! I know nothing—can but prayFor Harold—pray, pray, pray—no help but prayer,A breath that fleets beyond this iron world,And touches Him that made it.
ACT IV.
SCENE I.—IN NORTHUMBRIA.ARCHBISHOP ALDRED, MORCAR, EDWIN,andFORCES.EnterHAROLD.The standard of the golden Dragon of Wessex preceding him.
HAROLD. What! are thy people sullen from defeat?Our Wessex dragon flies beyond the Humber,No voice to greet it.EDWIN. Let not our great kingBelieve us sullen—only shamed to the quickBefore the king—as having been so bruisedBy Harold, king of Norway; but our helpIs Harold, king of England. Pardon us, thou!Our silence is our reverence for the king!HAROLD. Earl of the Mercians! if the truth be gall,Cram me not thou with honey, when our good hiveNeeds every sting to save it.VOICES. Aldwyth! Aldwyth!HAROLD. Why cry thy people on thy sister's name?MORCAR. She hath won upon our people thro' her beauty,And pleasantness among them.VOICES. Aldwyth, Aldwyth!HAROLD. They shout as they would have her for a queen.MORCAR. She hath followed with our host, and suffer'd all.HAROLD. What would ye, men?VOICE. Our old Northumbrian crown,And kings of our own choosing.HAROLD. Your old crownWere little help without our Saxon carlesAgainst Hardrada.VOICE. Little! we are Danes,Who conquer'd what we walk on, our own field.HAROLD. They have been plotting here! [Aside.VOICE. He calls us little!HAROLD. The kingdoms of this world began with little,A hill, a fort, a city—that reach'd a handDown to the field beneath it, 'Be thou mine,Then to the next, 'Thou also!' If the fieldCried out 'I am mine own;' another hillOr fort, or city, took it, and the firstFell, and the next became an Empire.VOICE. YetThou art but a West Saxon:weare Danes!HAROLD. My mother is a Dane, and I am English;There is a pleasant fable in old books,Ye take a stick, and break it; bind a scoreAll in one faggot, snap it over knee,Ye cannot.VOICE. Hear King Harold! he says true!HAROLD. Would ye be Norsemen?VOICES. No!HAROLD. Or Norman?VOICES. No!HAROLD. Snap not the faggot-band then.VOICE. That is true!VOICE. Ay, but thou art not kingly, only grandsonTo Wulfnoth, a poor cow-herd.HAROLD. This old WulfnothWould take me on his knees and tell me talesOf Alfred and of Athelstan the GreatWho drove you Danes; and yet he held that Dane,Jute, Angle, Saxon, were or should be allOne England, for this cow-herd, like my father,Who shook the Norman scoundrels off the throne,Had in him kingly thoughts—a king of men,Not made but born, like the great king of all,A light among the oxen.VOICE. That is true!VOICE. Ay, and I love him now, for mine own fatherWas great, and cobbled.VOICE. Thou art Tostig's brother,Who wastes the land.HAROLD. This brother comes to saveYour land from waste; I saved it once before,For when your people banish'd Tostig hence,And Edward would have sent a host against you,Then I, who loved my brother, bad the kingWho doted on him, sanction your decreeOf Tostig's banishment, and choice of Morcar,To help the realm from scattering.VOICE. King! thy brother,If one may dare to speak the truth, was wrong'd.Wild was he, born so: but the plots against himHad madden'd tamer men.MORCAR. Thou art one of thoseWho brake into Lord Tostig's treasure-houseAnd slew two hundred of his following,And now, when Tostig hath come back with power,Are frighted back to Tostig.OLD THANE. Ugh! Plots and feuds!This is my ninetieth birthday. Can ye notBe brethren? Godwin still at feud with Alfgar,And Alfgar hates King Harold. Plots and feuds!This is my ninetieth birthday!HAROLD. Old man, HaroldHates nothing; nothisfault, if our two housesBe less than brothers.VOICES. Aldwyth, Harold, Aldwyth!HAROLD. Again! Morcar! Edwin! What do they mean?EDWIN. So the good king would deign to lend an earNot overscornful, we might chance—perchance—To guess their meaning.MORCAR. Thine own meaning, Harold,To make all England one, to close all feuds,Mixing our bloods, that thence a king may riseHalf-Godwin and half-Alfgar, one to ruleAll England beyond question, beyond quarrel.HAROLD. Who sow'd this fancy here among the people?MORCAR. Who knows what sows itself among the people?A goodly flower at times.HAROLD. The Queen of Wales?Why, Morcar, it is all but duty in herTo hate me; I have heard she hates me.MORCAR. No!For I can swear to that, but cannot swearThat these will follow thee against the Norsemen,If thou deny them this.HAROLD. Morcar and Edwin,When will you cease to plot against my house?EDWIN. The king can scarcely dream that we, who knowHis prowess in the mountains of the West,Should care to plot against him in the North.MORCAR. Who dares arraign us, king, of such a plot?HAROLD. Ye heard one witness even now.MORCAR. The craven!There is a faction risen again for Tostig,Since Tostig came with Norway—fright not love.HAROLD. Morcar and Edwin, will ye, if I yield,Follow against the Norseman?MORCAR. Surely, surely!HAROLD. Morcar and Edwin, will ye upon oath,Help us against the Norman?MORCAR. With good will;Yea, take the Sacrament upon it, king.HAROLD. Where is thy sister?MORCAR. Somewhere hard at hand.Call and she comes.[One goes out, then enterALDWYTH.HAROLD. I doubt not but thou knowestWhy thou art summon'd.ALDWYTH. Why?—I stay with these,Lest thy fierce Tostig spy me out alone,And flay me all alive.HAROLD. Canst thou love oneWho did discrown thine husband, unqueen thee?Didst thou not love thine husband?ALDWYTH. Oh! my lord,The nimble, wild, red, wiry, savage king—That was, my lord, a match of policy.HAROLD. Was it?I knew him brave: he loved his land: he fainHad made her great: his finger on her harp(I heard him more than once) had in it Wales,Her floods, her woods, her hills: had I been his,I had been all Welsh.ALDWYTH. Oh, ay—all Welsh—and yetI saw thee drive him up his hills—and womenCling to the conquer'd, if they love, the more;If not, they cannot hate the conqueror.We never—oh! good Morcar, speak for us,His conqueror conquer'd Aldwyth.HAROLD. Goodly news!MORCAR. Doubt it not thou! Since Griffith'shead was sentTo Edward, she hath said it.HAROLD. I had ratherShe would have loved her husband. Aldwyth, Aldwyth,Canst thou love me, thou knowing where I love?ALDWYTH. I can, my lord, for mine own sake, for thine,For England, for thy poor white dove, who fluttersBetween thee and the porch, but then would findHer nest within the cloister, and be still.HAROLD. Canst thou love one, who cannot love again?ALDWYTH. Full hope have I that love will answer love.HAROLD. Then in the name of the great God, so be it!Come, Aldred, join our hands before the hosts,That all may see.[ALDREDjoins the hands ofHAROLDandALDWYTHand blesses them.VOICES. Harold, Harold and Aldwyth!HAROLD. Set forth our golden Dragon, let him flapThe wings that beat down Wales!Advance our Standard of the Warrior,Dark among gems and gold; and thou, brave banner,Blaze like a night of fatal stars on thoseWho read their doom and die.Where lie the Norsemen? on the Derwent? ayAt Stamford-bridge.Morcar, collect thy men; Edwin, my friend—Thou lingerest.—Gurth,—Last night King Edward came to me in dreams—The rosy face and long down-silvering beard—He told me I should conquer:—I am no woman to put faith in dreams.(To his army.)Last night King Edward came to me in dreams,And told me we should conquer.VOICES. Forward! Forward!Harold and Holy Cross!ALDWYTH. The day is won!
SCENE II.—A PLAIN. BEFORE THE BATTLE OF STAMFORD-BRIDGE.HAROLDand hisGUARD.
HAROLD. Who is it comes this way? Tostig?(EnterTOSTIGwith a small force.) O brother,What art thou doing here?TOSTIG. I am foragingFor Norway's army.HAROLD. I could take and slay thee.Thou art in arms against us.TOSTIG. Take and slay me,For Edward loved me.HAROLD. Edward bad me spare thee.TOSTIG. I hate King Edward, for he join'd with theeTo drive me outlaw'd. Take and slay me, I say,Or I shall count thee fool.HAROLD. Take thee, or free thee,Free thee or slay thee, Norway will have war;No man would strike with Tostig, save for Norway.Thou art nothing in thine England, save for Norway,Who loves not thee but war. What dost thou here,Trampling thy mother's bosom into blood?TOSTIG. She hath wean'd me from it with such bitterness.I come for mine own Earldom, my Northumbria;Thou hast given it to the enemy of our house.HAROLD. Northumbria threw thee off, she will not have thee,Thou hast misused her: and, O crowning crime!Hast murder'd thine own guest, the son of Orm,Gamel, at thine own hearth.TOSTIG. The slow, fat fool!He drawl'd and prated so, I smote him suddenly,I knew not what I did. He held with Morcar.—I hate myself for all things that I do.HAROLD. And Morcar holds with us. Come back with him.Know what thou dost; and we may find for thee,So thou be chasten'd by thy banishment,Some easier earldom.TOSTIG. What for Norway then?He looks for land among us, he and his.HAROLD. Seven feet of English land, or something more,Seeing he is a giant.TOSTIG. That is noble!That sounds of Godwin.HAROLD. Come thou back, and beOnce more a son of Godwin.TOSTIG (turns away). O brother, brother,O Harold—HAROLD (laying his hand onTOSTIG'Sshoulder).Nay then, come thou back to us!TOSTIG (after a pause turning to him). Nevershall any man say that I, that TostigConjured the mightier Harold from his NorthTo do the battle for me here in England,Then left him for the meaner! thee!—Thou hast no passion for the House of Godwin—Thou hast but cared to make thyself a king—Thou hast sold me for a cry.—Thou gavest thy voice against me in the Council—I hate thee, and despise thee, and defy thee.Farewell for ever![Exit.HAROLD. On to Stamford-bridge!
SCENE III.
AFTER THE BATTLE OF STAMFORD-BRIDGE. BANQUET.HAROLDandALDWYTH. GURTH, LEOFWIN, MORCAR, EDWIN,and otherEARLSandTHANES.
VOICES. Hail! Harold! Aldwyth! hail, bridegroom and bride!ALDWYTH (talking withHAROLD).Answer them thou!Is this our marriage-banquet? Would the winesOf wedding had been dash'd into the cupsOf victory, and our marriage and thy gloryBeen drunk together! these poor hands but sew,Spin, broider—would that they were man's to have heldThe battle-axe by thee!HAROLD. Therewasa momentWhen being forced aloof from all my guard,And striking at Hardrada and his madmenI had wish'd for any weapon.ALDWYTH. Why art thou sad?HAROLD. I have lost the boy who play'd at ball with me,With whom I fought another fight than thisOf Stamford-bridge.ALDWYTH. Ay! ay! thy victoriesOver our own poor Wales, when at thy sideHe conquer'd with thee.HAROLD. No—the childish fistThat cannot strike again.ALDWYTH. Thou art too kindly.Why didst thou let so many Norsemen hence?Thy fierce forekings had clench'd their pirate hidesTo the bleak church doors, like kites upon a barn.HAROLD. Is there so great a need to tell thee why?ALDWYTH. Yea, am I not thy wife?VOICES. Hail, Harold, Aldwyth!Bridegroom and bride!ALDWYTH. Answer them! [ToHAROLD.HAROLD (to all). Earls and Thanes!Full thanks for your fair greeting of my bride!Earls, Thanes, and all our countrymen! the day,Our day beside the Derwent will not shineLess than a star among the goldenest hoursOf Alfred, or of Edward his great son,Or Athelstan, or English IronsideWho fought with Knut, or Knut who coming DaneDied English. Every man about his kingFought like a king; the king like his own man,No better; one for all, and all for one,One soul! and therefore have we shatter'd backThe hugest wave from Norseland ever yetSurged on us, and our battle-axes brokenThe Raven's wing, and dumb'd his carrion croakFrom the gray sea for ever. Many are gone—Drink to the dead who died for us, the livingWho fought and would have died, but happier lived,If happier be to live; they both have lifeIn the large mouth of England, tillhervoiceDie with the world. Hail—hail!MORCAR. May all invaders perish like Hardrada!All traitors fail like Tostig. [All drink butHAROLD.ALDWYTH. Thy cup's full!HAROLD. I saw the hand of Tostig cover it.Our dear, dead, traitor-brother, Tostig, himReverently we buried. Friends, had I been here,Without too large self-lauding I must holdThe sequel had been other than his leagueWith Norway, and this battle. Peace be with him!He was not of the worst. If there be thoseAt banquet in this hall, and hearing me—For there be those I fear who prick'd the lionTo make him spring, that sight of Danish bloodMight serve an end not English—peace with themLikewise, if they can be at peace with whatGod gave us to divide us from the wolf!ALDWYTH (aside toHAROLD).Make not our Morcar sullen: it is not wise.HAROLD. Hail to the living who fought, the dead who fell!VOICES. Hail, hail!FIRST THANE. How ran that answer which King Harold gaveTo his dead namesake, when he ask'd for England?LEOFWIN. 'Seven feet of English earth, or something more,Seeing he is a giant!'FIRST THANE. Then for the bastardSix feet and nothing more!LEOFWIN. Ay, but belikeThou hast not learnt his measure.FIRST THANE. By St. EdmundI over-measure him. Sound sleep to the manHere by dead Norway without dream or dawn!SECOND THANE. What is he bragging still that he will comeTo thrust our Harold's throne from under him?My nurse would tell me of a molehill cryingTo a mountain 'Stand aside and room for me!'FIRST THANE. Let him come! let him come.Here's to him, sink or swim! [Drinks.SECOND THANE. God sink him!FIRST THANE. Cannot hands which had the strengthTo shove that stranded iceberg off our shores,And send the shatter'd North again to sea,Scuttle his cockle-shell? What's BrunanburgTo Stamford-bridge? a war-crash, and so hard,So loud, that, by St. Dunstan, old St. Thor—By God, we thought him dead—but our old ThorHeard his own thunder again, and woke and cameAmong us again, and mark'd the sons of thoseWho made this Britain England, break the North:Mark'd how the war-axe swang,Heard how the war-horn sang,Mark'd how the spear-head sprang,Heard how the shield-wall rang,Iron on iron clang,Anvil on hammer bang—SECOND THANE. Hammer on anvil, hammer on anvil. Old dog,Thou art drunk, old dog!FIRST THANE. Too drunk to fight with thee!SECOND THANE. Fight thou with thine own double, not with me,Keep that for Norman William!FIRST THANE. Down with William!THIRD THANE. The washerwoman's brat!FOURTH THANE. The tanner's bastard!FIFTH THANE.The Falaise byblow![Enter aTHANE,from Pevensey, spattered with mud.HAROLD. Ay, but what late guest,As haggard as a fast of forty days,And caked and plaster'd with a hundred mires,Hath stumbled on our cups?THANEfrom Pevensey. My lord the King!William the Norman, for the wind had changed—HAROLD. I felt it in the middle of that fierce fightAt Stamford-bridge. William hath landed, ha?THANEfrom Pevensey. Landed at Pevensey—I am from Pevensey—Hath wasted all the land at Pevensey—Hath harried mine own cattle—God confound him!I have ridden night and day from Pevensey—A thousand ships—a hundred thousand men—Thousands of horses, like as many lionsNeighing and roaring as they leapt to land—HAROLD. How oft in coming hast thou broken bread?THANEfrom Pevensey.Some thrice, or so.HAROLD. Bring not thy hollownessOn our full feast. Famine is fear, were it butOf being starved. Sit down, sit down, and eat,And, when again red-blooded, speak again;(Aside.) The men that guarded England to the SouthWere scatter'd to the harvest.... No power mineTo hold their force together.... Many are fallenAt Stamford-bridge ... the people stupid-sureSleep like their swine ... in South and North at onceI could not be.(Aloud.) Gurth, Leofwin, Morcar, Edwin!(Pointing to the revellers.)The curse of England! these are drown'd in wassail,And cannot see the world but thro' their wines!Leave them! and thee too, Aldwyth, must I leave—Harsh is the news! hard is our honeymoon!Thy pardon. (Turning round to hisATTENDANTS.)Break the banquet up ... Ye four!And thou, my carrier-pigeon of black news,Cram thy crop full, but come when thou art call'd.[ExitHAROLD.