Queen Mary; and, Harold

     END OF QUEEN MARY.

     TO HIS EXCELLENCY THE RIGHT HON. LORD LYTTON, VICEROY AND
     GOVERNOR-GENERAL OF INDIA.

     My Dear Lord Lytton,—After old-world records—such as the Bayeux
     tapestry and the Roman de Rou,—Edward Freeman's History of the Norman
     Conquest, and your father's Historical Romance treating of the same
     times, have been mainly helpful to me in writing this Drama. Your
     father dedicated his 'Harold' to my father's brother; allow me to
     dedicate my 'Harold' to yourself.

     A. TENNYSON.

     SHOW-DAY AT BATTLE ABBEY, 1876.

     A garden here—May breath and bloom of spring—
     The cuckoo yonder from an English elm
     Crying 'with my false egg I overwhelm
     The native nest:' and fancy hears the ring
     Of harness, and that deathful arrow sing,
     And Saxon battleaxe clang on Norman helm.
     Here rose the dragon-banner of our realm:
     Here fought, here fell, our Norman-slander'd king.
     O Garden blossoming out of English blood!
     O strange hate-healer Time! We stroll and stare
     Where might made right eight hundred years ago;
     Might, right? ay good, so all things make for good—
     But he and he, if soul be soul, are where
     Each stands full face with all he did below.

     DRAMATIS PERSONAE
     KING EDWARD THE CONFESSOR.
     STIGAND, created Archbishop of Canterbury by the Antipope Benedict.
     ALDRED, Archbishop of York.
     THE NORMAN BISHOP OF LONDON.
     HAROLD, Earl of Wessex, afterwards King of England, Son of Godwin     TOSTIG, Earl of Northumbria, Son of Godwin     GURTH, Earl of East Anglia, Son of Godwin     LEOFWIN, Earl of Kent and Essex, Son of Godwin     WULFNOTH
     COUNT WILLIAM OF NORMANDY.
     WILLIAM RUFUS.
     WILLIAM MALET, a Norman Noble.[1]
     EDWIN, Earl of Mercia, Son of Alfgar of Mercia     MORCAR, Earl of Northumbria after Tostig, Son of Alfgar of Mercia     GAMEL, a Northumbrian Thane.
     GUY, Count of Ponthieu.
     ROLF, a Ponthieu Fisherman.
     HUGH MARGOT, a Norman Monk.
     OSGOD and ATHELRIC, Canons from Waltham.
     THE QUEEN, Edward the Confessor's Wife, Daughter of Godwin.
     ALDWYTH, Daughter of Alfgar and Widow of Griffyth, King of Wales.
     EDITH, Ward of King Edward.
     Courtiers, Earls and Thanes, Men-at-Arms, Canons of Waltham,
     Fishermen, etc.

     [Footnote 1: ... quidam partim Normannus et Anglus
     Compater Heraldi. (Guy of Amiens, 587.)]

     HAROLD

     ACT I.

     SCENE I.—LONDON. THE KING'S PALACE.

         (A comet seen through the open window.)

     ALDWYTH, GAMEL, COURTIERS talking together.

     FIRST COURTIER. Lo! there once more—this is the seventh night!
     Yon grimly-glaring, treble-brandish'd scourge Of England!

     SECOND COURTIER. Horrible!

     FIRST COURTIER.            Look you, there's a star
     That dances in it as mad with agony!

     THIRD COURTIER. Ay, like a spirit in Hell who skips and flies
     To right and left, and cannot scape the flame.

     SECOND COURTIER. Steam'd upward from the undescendable
     Abysm.

     FIRST COURTIER. Or floated downward from the throne
     Of God Almighty.

     ALDWYTH.         Gamel, son of Orm,
     What thinkest thou this means?

     GAMEL.                         War, my dear lady!

     ALDWYTH. Doth this affright thee?

     GAMEL.                            Mightily, my dear lady!

     ALDWYTH. Stand by me then, and look upon my face,
     Not on the comet.

         Enter MORCAR.

                       Brother! why so pale?

     MORCAR. It glares in heaven, it flares upon the Thames,
     The people are as thick as bees below,
     They hum like bees,—they cannot speak—for awe;
     Look to the skies, then to the river, strike
     Their hearts, and hold their babies up to it.
     I think that they would Molochize them too,
     To have the heavens clear.

     ALDWYTH. They fright not me.

         Enter LEOFWIN, after him GURTH.

     Ask thou Lord Leofwin what he thinks of this!

     MORCAR. Lord Leofwin, dost thou believe, that these
     Three rods of blood-red fire up yonder mean
     The doom of England and the wrath of Heaven?

     BISHOP OF LONDON (passing).
     Did ye not cast with bestial violence
     Our holy Norman bishops down from all
     Their thrones in England? I alone remain.
     Why should not Heaven be wroth?

     LEOFWIN. With us, or thee?

     BISHOP OF LONDON. Did ye not outlaw your archbishop Robert,
     Robert of Jumieges—well-nigh murder him too?
     Is there no reason for the wrath of Heaven?

     LEOFWIN. Why then the wrath of Heaven hath three tails,
     The devil only one.

                            [Exit BISHOP OF LONDON.

         Enter ARCHBISHOP STIGAND.

     Ask our Archbishop.
     Stigand should know the purposes of Heaven.

     STIGAND. Not I. I cannot read the face of heaven;
     Perhaps our vines will grow the better for it.

     LEOFWIN (laughing).
     He can but read the king's face on his coins.

     STIGAND. Ay, ay, young lord, there the king's face is power.

     GURTH. O father, mock not at a public fear,
     But tell us, is this pendent hell in heaven
     A harm to England?

     STIGAND.           Ask it of King Edward!
     And he may tell thee, I am a harm to England.
     Old uncanonical Stigand—ask of me     Who had my pallium from an Antipope!
     Not he the man—for in our windy world
     What's up is faith, what's down is heresy.
     Our friends, the Normans, holp to shake his chair.
     I have a Norman fever on me, son,
     And cannot answer sanely.... What it means?
     Ask our broad Earl.
                            [Pointing to HAROLD, who enters.

     HAROLD (seeing GAMEL).
                         Hail, Gamel, son of Orm!
     Albeit no rolling stone, my good friend Gamel,
     Thou hast rounded since we met. Thy life at home
     Is easier than mine here. Look! am I not
     Work-wan, flesh-fallen?

     GAMEL.                  Art thou sick, good Earl?

     HAROLD. Sick as an autumn swallow for a voyage,
     Sick for an idle week of hawk and hound
     Beyond the seas—a change! When camest thou hither?

     GAMEL. To-day, good Earl.

     HAROLD.                   Is the North quiet, Gamel?

     GAMEL. Nay, there be murmurs, for thy brother breaks us
     With over-taxing—quiet, ay, as yet—
     Nothing as yet.

     HAROLD.         Stand by him, mine old friend,
     Thou art a great voice in Northumberland!
     Advise him: speak him sweetly, he will hear thee.
     He is passionate but honest. Stand thou by him!
     More talk of this to-morrow, if yon weird sign
     Not blast us in our dreams.—Well, father Stigand—
                             [To STIGAND, who advances to him.

     STIGAND (pointing to the comet).
     War there, my son? is that the doom of England?

     HAROLD. Why not the doom of all the world as well?
     For all the world sees it as well as England.
     These meteors came and went before our day,
     Not harming any: it threatens us no more
     Than French or Norman. War? the worst that follows
     Things that seem jerk'd out of the common rut
     Of Nature is the hot religious fool,
     Who, seeing war in heaven, for heaven's credit
     Makes it on earth: but look, where Edward draws
     A faint foot hither, leaning upon Tostig.
     He hath learnt to love our Tostig much of late.

     LEOFWIN. And he hath learnt, despite the tiger in him,
     To sleek and supple himself to the king's hand.

     GURTH. I trust the kingly touch that cures the evil
     May serve to charm the tiger out of him.

     LEOFWIN. He hath as much of cat as tiger in him.
     Our Tostig loves the hand and not the man.

     HAROLD. Nay! Better die than lie!

         Enter KING, QUEEN, and TOSTIG.

     EDWARD. In heaven signs!
     Signs upon earth! signs everywhere! your Priests
     Gross, worldly, simoniacal, unlearn'd!
     They scarce can read their Psalter; and your churches
     Uncouth, unhandsome, while in Normanland
     God speaks thro' abler voices, as He dwells
     In statelier shrines. I say not this, as being
     Half Norman-blooded, nor as some have held,
     Because I love the Norman better—no,
     But dreading God's revenge upon this realm
     For narrowness and coldness: and I say it
     For the last time perchance, before I go
     To find the sweet refreshment of the Saints.
     I have lived a life of utter purity:
     I have builded the great church of Holy Peter:
     I have wrought miracles—to God the glory—
     And miracles will in my name be wrought
     Hereafter.—I have fought the fight and go—
     I see the flashing of the gates of pearl—
     And it is well with me, tho' some of you
     Have scorn'd me—ay—but after I am gone
     Woe, woe to England! I have had a vision;
     The seven sleepers in the cave at Ephesus
     Have turn'd from right to left.

     HAROLD.                         My most dear Master,
     What matters? let them turn from left to right
     And sleep again.

     TOSTIG.          Too hardy with thy king!
     A life of prayer and fasting well may see
     Deeper into the mysteries of heaven
     Than thou, good brother.

     ALDWYTH (aside).       Sees he into thine,
     That thou wouldst have his promise for the crown?

     EDWARD. Tostig says true; my son, thou art too hard,
     Not stagger'd by this ominous earth and heaven:
     But heaven and earth are threads of the same loom,
     Play into one another, and weave the web
     That may confound thee yet.

     HAROLD.                     Nay, I trust not,
     For I have served thee long and honestly.

     EDWARD. I know it, son; I am not thankless: thou
     Hast broken all my foes, lighten'd for me
     The weight of this poor crown, and left me time
     And peace for prayer to gain a better one.
     Twelve years of service! England loves thee for it.
     Thou art the man to rule her!

     ALDWYTH (aside).            So, not Tostig!

     HAROLD. And after those twelve years a boon, my king,
     Respite, a holiday: thyself wast wont
     To love the chase: thy leave to set my feet
     On board, and hunt and hawk beyond the seas!

     EDWARD. What, with this flaming horror overhead?

     HAROLD. Well, when it passes then.

     EDWARD.                            Ay if it pass.
     Go not to Normandy—go not to Normandy.

     HAROLD. And wherefore not, my king, to Normandy?
     Is not my brother Wulfnoth hostage there
     For my dead father's loyalty to thee?
     I pray thee, let me hence and bring him home.

     EDWARD. Not thee, my son: some other messenger.

     HAROLD. And why not me, my lord, to Normandy?
     Is not the Norman Count thy friend and mine?

     EDWARD. I pray thee, do not go to Normandy.

     HAROLD. Because my father drove the Normans out
     Of England?—That was many a summer gone—
     Forgotten and forgiven by them and thee.

     EDWARD. Harold, I will not yield thee leave to go.

     HAROLD. Why then to Flanders. I will hawk and hunt
     In Flanders.

     EDWARD.      Be there not fair woods and fields
     In England? Wilful, wilful. Go—the Saints
     Pilot and prosper all thy wandering out
     And homeward. Tostig, I am faint again.
     Son Harold, I will in and pray for thee.

         [Exit, leaning on TOSTIG, and followed by         STIGAND, MORCAR, and COURTIERS.

     HAROLD. What lies upon the mind of our good king
     That he should harp this way on Normandy?

     QUEEN. Brother, the king is wiser than he seems;
     And Tostig knows it; Tostig loves the king.

     HAROLD. And love should know; and—be the
     king so wise,—
     Then Tostig too were wiser than he seems.
     I love the man but not his phantasies.

         Re-enter TOSTIG.

     Well, brother,
     When didst thou hear from thy Northumbria?

     TOSTIG. When did I hear aught but this 'When' from thee?
     Leave me alone, brother, with my Northumbria:
     She is my mistress, let me look to her!
     The King hath made me Earl; make me not fool!
     Nor make the King a fool, who made me Earl!

     HAROLD. No, Tostig—lest I make myself a fool
     Who made the King who made thee, make thee Earl.

     TOSTIG. Why chafe me then? Thou knowest I soon go wild.

     GURTH. Come, come! as yet thou art not gone so wild
     But thou canst hear the best and wisest of us.

     HAROLD. So says old Gurth, not I: yet hear! thine earldom,
     Tostig, hath been a kingdom. Their old crown
     Is yet a force among them, a sun set
     But leaving light enough for Alfgar's house
     To strike thee down by—nay, this ghastly glare
     May heat their fancies.

     TOSTIG.                 My most worthy brother,
     Thou art the quietest man in all the world—
     Ay, ay and wise in peace and great in war—
     Pray God the people choose thee for their king!
     But all the powers of the house of Godwin
     Are not enframed in thee.

     HAROLD.                   Thank the Saints, no!
     But thou hast drain'd them shallow by thy tolls,
     And thou art ever here about the King:
     Thine absence well may seem a want of care.
     Cling to their love; for, now the sons of Godwin
     Sit topmost in the field of England, envy,
     Like the rough bear beneath the tree, good brother,
     Waits till the man let go.

     TOSTIG.                    Good counsel truly!
     I heard from my Northumbria yesterday.

     HAROLD. How goes it then with thy Northumbria?
     Well?

     TOSTIG. And wouldst thou that it went aught else than well?

     HAROLD. I would it went as well as with mine earldom,
     Leofwin's and Gurth's.

     TOSTIG.                Ye govern milder men.

     GURTH. We have made them milder by just government.

     TOSTIG. Ay, ever give yourselves your own good word.

     LEOFWIN. An honest gift, by all the Saints, if giver

     And taker be but honest! but they bribe
     Each other, and so often, an honest world
     Will not believe them.

     HAROLD.                I may tell thee, Tostig,
     I heard from thy Northumberland to-day.

     TOSTIG. From spies of thine to spy my nakedness
     In my poor North!

     HAROLD.           There is a movement there,
     A blind one—nothing yet.

     TOSTIG.                   Crush it at once
     With all the power I have!—I must—I will!—
     Crush it half-born! Fool still? or wisdom there,
     My wise head-shaking Harold?

     HAROLD.                       Make not thou
     The nothing something. Wisdom when in power
     And wisest, should not frown as Power, but smile
     As kindness, watching all, till the true must     Shall make her strike as Power: but when to strike—
     O Tostig, O dear brother—If they prance,
     Rein in, not lash them, lest they rear and run
     And break both neck and axle.

     TOSTIG.                       Good again!
     Good counsel tho' scarce needed. Pour not water
     In the full vessel running out at top
     To swamp the house.

     LEOFWIN.            Nor thou be a wild thing
     Out of the waste, to turn and bite the hand
     Would help thee from the trap.

     TOSTIG.                        Thou playest in tune.

     LEOFWIN. To the deaf adder thee, that wilt not dance
     However wisely charm'd.

     TOSTIG.                 No more, no more!

     GURTH. I likewise cry 'no more.' Unwholesome talk
     For Godwin's house! Leofwin, thou hast a tongue!
     Tostig, thou look'st as thou wouldst spring upon him.
     St. Olaf, not while I am by! Come, come,
     Join hands, let brethren dwell in unity;
     Let kith and kin stand close as our shield-wall,
     Who breaks us then? I say, thou hast a tongue,
     And Tostig is not stout enough to bear it.
     Vex him not, Leofwin.

     TOSTIG.               No, I am not vext,—
     Altho' ye seek to vex me, one and all.
     I have to make report of my good earldom
     To the good king who gave it—not to you—
     Not any of you.—I am not vext at all.

     HAROLD. The king? the king is ever at his prayers;
     In all that handles matter of the state
     I am the king.

     TOSTIG.        That shall thou never be
     If I can thwart thee.

     HAROLD.               Brother, brother!

     TOSTIG.                                 Away!

                      [Exit TOSTIG.

     QUEEN. Spite of this grisly star ye three must gall
     Poor Tostig.

     LEOFWIN.     Tostig, sister, galls himself;
     He cannot smell a rose but pricks his nose
     Against the thorn, and rails against the rose.

     QUEEN. I am the only rose of all the stock
     That never thorn'd him; Edward loves him, so
     Ye hate him. Harold always hated him.
     Why—how they fought when boys—and, Holy Mary!
     How Harold used to beat him!

     HAROLD.                      Why, boys will fight.
     Leofwin would often fight me, and I beat him.
     Even old Gurth would fight. I had much ado
     To hold mine own against old Gurth. Old Gurth,
     We fought like great states for grave cause; but
     Tostig—
     On a sudden—at a something—for a nothing—
     The boy would fist me hard, and when we fought
     I conquer'd, and he loved me none the less,
     Till thou wouldst get him all apart, and tell him
     That where he was but worsted, he was wrong'd.
     Ah! thou hast taught the king to spoil him too;
     Now the spoilt child sways both. Take heed, take heed;
     Thou art the Queen; ye are boy and girl no more:
     Side not with Tostig in any violence,
     Lest thou be sideways guilty of the violence.

     QUEEN. Come fall not foul on me. I leave thee, brother.

     HAROLD. Nay, my good sister—

         [Exeunt QUEEN, HAROLD, GURTH, and LEOFWIN.

     ALDWYTH.                     Gamel, son of Orm,
     What thinkest thou this means?    [Pointing to the comet.

     GAMEL.                         War, my dear lady,
     War, waste, plague, famine, all malignities.

     ALDWYTH. It means the fall of Tostig from his earldom.

     GAMEL. That were too small a matter for a comet!

     ALDWYTH. It means the lifting of the house of Alfgar.

     GAMEL. Too small! a comet would not show for that!

     ALDWYTH. Not small for thee, if thou canst compass it.

     GAMEL. Thy love?

     ALDWYTH. As much as I can give thee, man;
     This Tostig is, or like to be, a tyrant;
     Stir up thy people: oust him!

     GAMEL.                        And thy love?

     ALDWYTH. As much as thou canst bear.

     GAMEL.                               I can bear all,
     And not be giddy.

     ALDWYTH.          No more now: to-morrow.

     SCENE II.—IN THE GARDEN. THE KING'S HOUSE NEAR LONDON. SUNSET.

     EDITH. Mad for thy mate, passionate nightingale....
     I love thee for it—ay, but stay a moment;
     He can but stay a moment: he is going.
     I fain would hear him coming!... near me ... near.
     Somewhere—To draw him nearer with a charm
     Like thine to thine.
                             (Singing.)

         Love is come with a song and a smile,
         Welcome Love with a smile and a song:
         Love can stay but a little while.
         Why cannot he stay? They call him away:
         Ye do him wrong, ye do him wrong;
         Love will stay for a whole life long.

             Enter HAROLD.

     HAROLD. The nightingales in Havering-at-the-Bower
     Sang out their loves so loud, that Edward's prayers
     Were deafen'd and he pray'd them dumb, and thus
     I dumb thee too, my wingless nightingale!
                                         [Kissing her.

     EDITH. Thou art my music! Would their wings were mine
     To follow thee to Flanders! Must thou go?

     HAROLD. Not must, but will. It is but for one moon.

     EDITH. Leaving so many foes in Edward's hall
     To league against thy weal. The Lady Aldwyth
     Was here to-day, and when she touch'd on thee,
     She stammer'd in her hate; I am sure she hates thee,
     Pants for thy blood.

     HAROLD.              Well, I have given her cause—
     I fear no woman.

     EDITH.                Hate not one who felt
     Some pity for thy hater! I am sure
     Her morning wanted sunlight, she so praised
     The convent and lone life—within the pale—
     Beyond the passion. Nay—she held with Edward,
     At least methought she held with holy Edward,
     That marriage was half sin.

     HAROLD.                     A lesson worth
     Finger and thumb—thus (snaps his fingers). And my answer to it—
     See here—an interwoven H and E!
     Take thou this ring; I will demand his ward
     From Edward when I come again. Ay, would she?
     She to shut up my blossom in the dark!
     Thou art my nun, thy cloister in mine arms.

     EDITH (taking the ring).
     Yea, but Earl Tostig—

     HAROLD.               That's a truer fear!
     For if the North take fire, I should be back;
     I shall be, soon enough.

     EDITH.                   Ay, but last night
     An evil dream that ever came and went—

     HAROLD. A gnat that vext thy pillow! Had I been by,
     I would have spoil'd his horn. My girl, what was it?

     EDITH. Oh! that thou wert not going!
     For so methought it was our marriage-morn,
     And while we stood together, a dead man
     Rose from behind the altar, tore away
     My marriage ring, and rent my bridal veil;
     And then I turn'd, and saw the church all fill'd
     With dead men upright from their graves, and all
     The dead men made at thee to murder thee,
     But thou didst back thyself against a pillar,
     And strike among them with thy battle-axe—
     There, what a dream!

     HAROLD.              Well, well—a dream—no more!

     EDITH. Did not Heaven speak to men in dreams of old?

     HAROLD. Ay—well—of old. I tell thee what, my child;
     Thou hast misread this merry dream of thine,
     Taken the rifted pillars of the wood
     For smooth stone columns of the sanctuary,
     The shadows of a hundred fat dead deer
     For dead men's ghosts. True, that the battle-axe
     Was out of place; it should have been the bow.—
     Come, thou shalt dream no more such dreams; I swear it,
     By mine own eyes—and these two sapphires—these
     Twin rubies, that are amulets against all
     The kisses of all kind of womankind
     In Flanders, till the sea shall roll me back
     To tumble at thy feet.

     EDITH.                 That would but shame me,
     Rather than make me vain. The sea may roll
     Sand, shingle, shore-weed, not the living rock
     Which guards the land.

     HAROLD.                Except it be a soft one,
     And undereaten to the fall. Mine amulet ...
     This last ... upon thine eyelids, to shut in
     A happier dream. Sleep, sleep, and thou shalt see
     My grayhounds fleeting like a beam of light,
     And hear my peregrine and her bells in heaven;
     And other bells on earth, which yet are heaven's;
     Guess what they be.

     EDITH.              He cannot guess who knows.
     Farewell, my king.

     HAROLD.            Not yet, but then—my queen.
                                    [Exeunt.
         Enter ALDWYTH from the thicket.

     ALDWYTH. The kiss that charms thine eyelids into sleep,
     Will hold mine waking. Hate him? I could love him
     More, tenfold, than this fearful child can do;
     Griffyth I hated: why not hate the foe
     Of England? Griffyth when I saw him flee,
     Chased deer-like up his mountains, all the blood
     That should have only pulsed for Griffyth, beat
     For his pursuer. I love him or think I love him.
     If he were King of England, I his queen,
     I might be sure of it. Nay, I do love him.—
     She must be cloister'd somehow, lest the king
     Should yield his ward to Harold's will. What harm?
     She hath but blood enough to live, not love.—
     When Harold goes and Tostig, shall I play
     The craftier Tostig with him? fawn upon him?
     Chime in with all? 'O thou more saint than king!'
     And that were true enough. 'O blessed relics!'
     'O Holy Peter!' If he found me thus,
     Harold might hate me; he is broad and honest,
     Breathing an easy gladness ... not like Aldwyth ...
     For which I strangely love him. Should not England
     Love Aldwyth, if she stay the feuds that part
     The sons of Godwin from the sons of Alfgar
     By such a marrying? Courage, noble Aldwyth!
     Let all thy people bless thee!
                                    Our wild Tostig,
     Edward hath made him Earl: he would be king:—
     The dog that snapt the shadow, dropt the bone.—
     I trust he may do well, this Gamel, whom
     I play upon, that he may play the note
     Whereat the dog shall howl and run, and Harold
     Hear the king's music, all alone with him,
     Pronounced his heir of England.
     I see the goal and half the way to it.—
     Peace-lover is our Harold for the sake
     Of England's wholeness—so—to shake the North
     With earthquake and disruption—some division—
     Then fling mine own fair person in the gap
     A sacrifice to Harold, a peace-offering,
     A scape-goat marriage—all the sins of both
     The houses on mine head—then a fair life
     And bless the Queen of England.

     MORCAR (coming from the thicket).
                                     Art thou assured
     By this, that Harold loves but Edith?

     ALDWYTH.                              Morcar!
     Why creep'st thou like a timorous beast of prey
     Out of the bush by night?

     MORCAR.                   I follow'd thee.

     ALDWYTH. Follow my lead, and I will make thee earl.

     MORCAR. What lead then?

     ALDWYTH.                Thou shalt flash it secretly
     Among the good Northumbrian folk, that I—
     That Harold loves me—yea, and presently
     That I and Harold are betroth'd—and last—
     Perchance that Harold wrongs me; tho' I would not
     That it should come to that.

     MORCAR.                      I will both flash
     And thunder for thee.

     ALDWYTH.              I said 'secretly;'
     It is the flash that murders, the poor thunder
     Never harm'd head.

     MORCAR.            But thunder may bring down
     That which the flash hath stricken.

     ALDWYTH.                            Down with Tostig!
     That first of all—And when doth Harold go?

     MORCAR. To-morrow—first to Bosham, then to Flanders.

     ALDWYTH. Not to come back till Tostig shall have shown
     And redden'd with his people's blood the teeth
     That shall be broken by us—yea, and thou
     Chair'd in his place. Good-night, and dream thyself
     Their chosen Earl.
                           [Exit ALDWYTH.

     MORCAR.            Earl first, and after that
     Who knows I may not dream myself their king!

     ACT II.

     SCENE I.—SEASHORE. PONTHIEU. NIGHT.

     HAROLD and his MEN, wrecked.

     HAROLD. Friends, in that last inhospitable plunge
     Our boat hath burst her ribs; but ours are whole;
     I have but bark'd my hands.

     ATTENDANT.                  I dug mine into
     My old fast friend the shore, and clinging thus
     Felt the remorseless outdraught of the deep
     Haul like a great strong fellow at my legs,
     And then I rose and ran. The blast that came
     So suddenly hath fallen as suddenly—
     Put thou the comet and this blast together—

     HAROLD. Put thou thyself and mother-wit together.
     Be not a fool!

         Enter FISHERMEN with torches, HAROLD going
         up to one of them, ROLF.

                    Wicked sea-will-o'-the-wisp!
     Wolf of the shore! dog, with thy lying lights
     Thou hast betray'd us on these rocks of thine!

     ROLF. Ay, but thou liest as loud as the black herring-pond behind
     thee. We be fishermen; I came to see after my nets.

     HAROLD. To drag us into them. Fishermen? devils!
     Who, while ye fish for men with your false fires,
     Let the great Devil fish for your own souls.

     ROLF. Nay then, we be liker the blessed Apostles; they were fishers
     of men, Father Jean says.

     HAROLD. I had liefer that the fish had swallowed me,
     Like Jonah, than have known there were such devils.
     What's to be done?
                           [To his MEN—goes apart with them.

     FISHERMAN. Rolf, what fish did swallow Jonah?

     ROLF. A whale!

     FISHERMAN. Then a whale to a whelk we have swallowed the King of
     England. I saw him over there. Look thee, Rolf, when I was down in the
     fever, she was down with the hunger, and thou didst stand by her and
     give her thy crabs, and set her up again, till now, by the patient
     Saints, she's as crabb'd as ever.

     ROLF. And I'll give her my crabs again, when thou art down again.

     FISHERMAN. I thank thee, Rolf. Run thou to Count Guy; he is hard at
     hand. Tell him what hath crept into our creel, and he will fee thee as
     freely as he will wrench this outlander's ransom out of him—and why
     not? for what right had he to get himself wrecked on another man's
     land?

     ROLF. Thou art the human-heartedest, Christian-charitiest of all
     crab-catchers. Share and share alike!
                                              [Exit.

     HAROLD (to FISHERMAN).
     Fellow, dost thou catch crabs?

     FISHERMAN. As few as I may in a wind, and less than I would in a calm.
     Ay!

     HAROLD. I have a mind that thou shalt catch no more.

     FISHERMAN. How?

     HAROLD. I have a mind to brain thee with mine axe.

     FISHERMAN. Ay, do, do, and our great Count-crab will make his nippers
     meet in thine heart; he'll sweat it out of thee, he'll sweat it out of
     thee. Look, he's here! He'll speak for himself! Hold thine own, if
     thou canst!

         Enter GUY, COUNT OF PONTHIEU.

     HAROLD. Guy, Count of Ponthieu?

     GUY.                            Harold, Earl of Wessex!

     HAROLD. Thy villains with their lying lights have wreck'd us!

     GUY. Art thou not Earl of Wessex?

     HAROLD.                           In mine earldom
     A man may hang gold bracelets on a bush,
     And leave them for a year, and coming back
     Find them again.

     GUY.             Thou art a mighty man
     In thine own earldom!

     HAROLD.               Were such murderous liars
     In Wessex—if I caught them, they should hang
     Cliff-gibbeted for sea-marks; our sea-mew
     Winging their only wail!

     GUY.                     Ay, but my men
     Hold that the shipwreckt are accursed of God;—
     What hinders me to hold with mine own men?

     HAROLD. The Christian manhood of the man who reigns!

     GUY. Ay, rave thy worst, but in our oubliettes
     Thou shalt or rot or ransom. Hale him hence!
         [To one of his ATTENDANTS.
     Fly thou to William; tell him we have Harold.

     SCENE II.—BAYEUX. PALACE.

     COUNT WILLIAM and WILLIAM MALET.

     WILLIAM. We hold our Saxon woodcock in the springe,
     But he begins to flutter. As I think
     He was thine host in England when I went
     To visit Edward.

     MALET.           Yea, and there, my lord,
     To make allowance for their rougher fashions,
     I found him all a noble host should be.

     WILLIAM. Thou art his friend: thou know'st my claim on England
     Thro' Edward's promise: we have him in the toils.
     And it were well, if thou shouldst let him feel,
     How dense a fold of danger nets him round,
     So that he bristle himself against my will.

     MALET. What would I do, my lord, if I were you?

     WILLIAM. What wouldst thou do?

     MALET.                         My lord, he is thy guest.

     WILLIAM. Nay, by the splendour of God, no guest of mine.
     He came not to see me, had past me by
     To hunt and hawk elsewhere, save for the fate
     Which hunted him when that un-Saxon blast,
     And bolts of thunder moulded in high heaven
     To serve the Norman purpose, drave and crack'd
     His boat on Ponthieu beach; where our friend Guy
     Had wrung his ransom from him by the rack,
     But that I slept between and purchased him,
     Translating his captivity from Guy
     To mine own hearth at Bayeux, where he sits
     My ransom'd prisoner.

     MALET.                Well, if not with gold,
     With golden deeds and iron strokes that brought
     Thy war with Brittany to a goodlier close
     Than else had been, he paid his ransom back.

     WILLIAM. So that henceforth they are not like to league
     With Harold against me.

     MALET.                    A marvel, how
     He from the liquid sands of Coesnon
     Haled thy shore-swallow'd, armour'd Normans up
     To fight for thee again!

     WILLIAM.                 Perchance against
     Their saver, save thou save him from himself.

     MALET. But I should let him home again, my lord.

     WILLIAM. Simple! let fly the bird within the hand,
     To catch the bird again within the bush!
     No.
     Smooth thou my way, before he clash with me;
     I want his voice in England for the crown,
     I want thy voice with him to bring him round;
     And being brave he must be subtly cow'd,
     And being truthful wrought upon to swear
     Vows that he dare not break. England our own
     Thro' Harold's help, he shall be my dear friend
     As well as thine, and thou thyself shalt have
     Large lordship there of lands and territory.

     MALET. I knew thy purpose; he and Wulfnoth never
     Have met, except in public; shall they meet
     In private? I have often talk'd with Wulfnoth,
     And stuff'd the boy with fears that these may act
     On Harold when they meet.

     WILLIAM.                  Then let them meet!

     MALET. I can but love this noble, honest Harold.

     WILLIAM. Love him! why not? thine is a loving office,
     I have commission'd thee to save the man:
     Help the good ship, showing the sunken rock,
     Or he is wreckt for ever.

         Enter WILLIAM RUFUS.

     WILLIAM RUFUS.            Father.

     WILLIAM.                          Well, boy.

     WILLIAM RUFUS. They have taken away the toy thou gavest me,
     The Norman knight.

     WILLIAM.           Why, boy?

     WILLIAM RUFUS.                Because I broke
     The horse's leg—it was mine own to break;
     I like to have my toys, and break them too.

     WILLIAM. Well, thou shalt have another Norman knight!

     WILLIAM RUFUS. And may I break his legs?

     WILLIAM.                                 Yea,—get thee gone!

     WILLIAM RUFUS. I'll tell them I have had my way with thee.
                                                           [Exit.

     MALET. I never knew thee check thy will for ought
     Save for the prattling of thy little ones.

     WILLIAM. Who shall be kings of England. I am heir
     Of England by the promise of her king.

     MALET. But there the great Assembly choose their king,
     The choice of England is the voice of England.

     WILLIAM. I will be king of England by the laws,
     The choice, and voice of England.

     MALET.                            Can that be?

     WILLIAM. The voice of any people is the sword
     That guards them, or the sword that beats them down.
     Here comes the would-be what I will be ... king-like ...
     Tho' scarce at ease; for, save our meshes break,
     More kinglike he than like to prove a king.

         Enter HAROLD, musing, with his eyes on the ground.

     He sees me not—and yet he dreams of me.
     Earl, wilt thou fly my falcons this fair day?
     They are of the best, strong-wing'd against the wind.

     HAROLD (looking up suddenly, having caught but the last word).
     Which way does it blow?

     WILLIAM.                  Blowing for England, ha?
     Not yet. Thou hast not learnt thy quarters here.
     The winds so cross and jostle among these towers.

     HAROLD. Count of the Normans, thou hast ransom'd us,
     Maintain'd, and entertain'd us royally!

     WILLIAM. And thou for us hast fought as loyally,
     Which binds us friendship-fast for ever!

     HAROLD.                                  Good!
     But lest we turn the scale of courtesy
     By too much pressure on it, I would fain,
     Since thou hast promised Wulfnoth home with us,
     Be home again with Wulfnoth.

     WILLIAM. Stay—as yet
     Thou hast but seen how Norman hands can strike,
     But walk'd our Norman field, scarce touch'd or tasted
     The splendours of our Court.

     HAROLD.                      I am in no mood:
     I should be as the shadow of a cloud
     Crossing your light.

     WILLIAM.             Nay, rest a week or two,
     And we will fill thee full of Norman sun,
     And send thee back among thine island mists
     With laughter.

     HAROLD.        Count, I thank thee, but had rather
     Breathe the free wind from off our Saxon downs,
     Tho' charged with all the wet of all the west.

     WILLIAM. Why if thou wilt, so let it be—thou shalt.
     That were a graceless hospitality
     To chain the free guest to the banquet-board;
     To-morrow we will ride with thee to Harfleur,
     And see thee shipt, and pray in thy behalf
     For happier homeward winds than that which crack'd
     Thy bark at Ponthieu,—yet to us, in faith,
     A happy one—whereby we came to know
     Thy valour and thy value, noble earl.
     Ay, and perchance a happy one for thee,
     Provided—I will go with thee to-morrow—
     Nay—but there be conditions, easy ones,
     So thou, fair friend, will take them easily.

         Enter PAGE.

     PAGE. My lord, there is a post from over seas
     With news for thee.    [Exit PAGE.

     WILLIAM. Come, Malet, let us hear!

                        [Exeunt COUNT WILLIAM and MALET.

     HAROLD. Conditions? What conditions? pay him back
     His ransom? 'easy '—that were easy—nay—
     No money-lover he! What said the King?
     'I pray you do not go to Normandy.'
     And fate hath blown me hither, bound me too
     With bitter obligation to the Count—
     Have I not fought it out? What did he mean?
     There lodged a gleaming grimness in his eyes,
     Gave his shorn smile the lie. The walls oppress me,
     And yon huge keep that hinders half the heaven.
     Free air! free field!
                    [Moves to go out. A MAN-AT-ARMS follows him.

     HAROLD (to the MAN-AT-ARMS).
     I need thee not. Why dost thou follow me?

     MAN-AT-ARMS. I have the Count's commands to follow thee.

     HAROLD. What then? Am I in danger in this court?

     MAN-AT-ARMS. I cannot tell. I have the Count's commands.

     HAROLD. Stand out of earshot then, and keep me still
     In eyeshot.

     MAN-AT-ARMS. Yea, lord Harold.    [Withdraws.

     HAROLD.                        And arm'd men
     Ever keep watch beside my chamber door,
     And if I walk within the lonely wood,
     There is an arm'd man ever glides behind!

         Enter MALET.

     Why am I follow'd, haunted, harass'd, watch'd?
     See yonder!    [Pointing to the MAN-AT-ARMS.

     MALET.      'Tis the good Count's care for thee!
     The Normans love thee not, nor thou the Normans,
     Or—so they deem.

     HAROLD.           But wherefore is the wind,
     Which way soever the vane-arrow swing,
     Not ever fair for England? Why but now
     He said (thou heardst him) that I must not hence
     Save on conditions.

     MALET.              So in truth he said.

     HAROLD. Malet, thy mother was an Englishwoman;
     There somewhere beats an English pulse in thee!

     MALET. Well—for my mother's sake I love your England,
     But for my father I love Normandy.

     HAROLD. Speak for thy mother's sake, and tell me true.

     MALET. Then for my mother's sake, and England's sake
     That suffers in the daily want of thee,
     Obey the Count's conditions, my good friend.

     HAROLD. How, Malet, if they be not honourable!

     MALET. Seem to obey them.

     HAROLD.                   Better die than lie!

     MALET. Choose therefore whether thou wilt have thy conscience
     White as a maiden's hand, or whether England
     Be shatter'd into fragments.

     HAROLD.                      News from England?

     MALET. Morcar and Edwin have stirr'd up the Thanes
     Against thy brother Tostig's governance;
     And all the North of Humber is one storm.

     HAROLD. I should be there, Malet, I should be there!

     MALET. And Tostig in his own hall on suspicion
     Hath massacred the Thane that was his guest,
     Gamel, the son of Orm: and there be more
     As villainously slain.

     HAROLD.                The wolf! the beast!
     Ill news for guests, ha, Malet! More? What more?
     What do they say? did Edward know of this?

     MALET. They say, his wife was knowing and abetting.

     HAROLD. They say, his wife!—To marry and have no husband
     Makes the wife fool. My God, I should be there.
     I'll hack my way to the sea.

     MALET.                       Thou canst not, Harold;
     Our Duke is all between thee and the sea,
     Our Duke is all about thee like a God;
     All passes block'd. Obey him, speak him fair,
     For he is only debonair to those
     That follow where he leads, but stark as death
     To those that cross him.—Look thou, here is Wulfnoth!
     I leave thee to thy talk with him alone;
     How wan, poor lad! how sick and sad for home!
                                              [Exit MALET.

     HAROLD (muttering).
     Go not to Normandy—go not to Normandy!

         Enter WULFNOTH.

     Poor brother! still a hostage!

     WULFNOTH.                      Yea, and I
     Shall see the dewy kiss of dawn no more
     Make blush the maiden-white of our tall cliffs,
     Nor mark the sea-bird rouse himself and hover
     Above the windy ripple, and fill the sky
     With free sea-laughter—never—save indeed
     Thou canst make yield this iron-mooded Duke
     To let me go.

     HAROLD.       Why, brother, so he will;
     But on conditions. Canst thou guess at them?

     WULFNOTH. Draw nearer,—I was in the corridor,
     I saw him coming with his brother Odo
     The Bayeux bishop, and I hid myself.

     HAROLD. They did thee wrong who made thee hostage; thou
     Wast ever fearful.

     WULFNOTH.          And he spoke—I heard him—
     'This Harold is not of the royal blood,
     Can have no right to the crown,' and Odo said,
     'Thine is the right, for thine the might; he is here,
     And yonder is thy keep.'

     HAROLD.                  No, Wulfnoth, no.

     WULFNOTH. And William laugh'd and swore that might was right,
     Far as he knew in this poor world of ours—
     'Marry, the Saints must go 'along with us,
     And, brother, we will find a way,' said he—
     Yea, yea, he would be king of England.

     HAROLD. Never!

     WULFNOTH.      Yea, but thou must not this way answer him.

     HAROLD. Is it not better still to speak the truth?

     WULFNOTH. Not here, or thou wilt never hence nor I:
     For in the racing toward this golden goal
     He turns not right or left, but tramples flat
     Whatever thwarts him; hast thou never heard
     His savagery at Alencon,—the town
     Hung out raw hides along their walls, and cried
     'Work for the tanner.'

     HAROLD.                That had anger'd me     Had I been William.

     WULFNOTH.           Nay, but he had prisoners,
     He tore their eyes out, sliced their hands away,
     And flung them streaming o'er the battlements
     Upon the heads of those who walk'd within—
     O speak him fair, Harold, for thine own sake.

     HAROLD. Your Welshman says, 'The Truth against the World,'
     Much more the truth against myself.

     WULFNOTH.                           Thyself?
     But for my sake, oh brother! oh! for my sake!

     HAROLD. Poor Wulfnoth! do they not entreat thee well?

     WULFNOTH. I see the blackness of my dungeon loom
     Across their lamps of revel, and beyond
     The merriest murmurs of their banquet clank
     The shackles that will bind me to the wall.

     HAROLD. Too fearful still!

     WULFNOTH. Oh no, no—speak him fair!
     Call it to temporize; and not to lie;
     Harold, I do not counsel thee to lie.
     The man that hath to foil a murderous aim
     May, surely, play with words.

     HAROLD. Words are the man.
     Not ev'n for thy sake, brother, would I lie.

     WULFNOTH. Then for thine Edith?

     HAROLD. There thou prick'st me deep.

     WULFNOTH. And for our Mother England?

     HAROLD. Deeper still.

     WULFNOTH. And deeper still the deep-down oubliette,
     Down thirty feet below the smiling day—
     In blackness—dogs' food thrown upon thy head.
     And over thee the suns arise and set,
     And the lark sings, the sweet stars come and go,
     And men are at their markets, in their fields,
     And woo their loves and have forgotten thee;
     And thou art upright in thy living grave,
     Where there is barely room to shift thy side,
     And all thine England hath forgotten thee;
     And he our lazy-pious Norman King,
     With all his Normans round him once again,
     Counts his old beads, and hath forgotten thee.

     HAROLD. Thou art of my blood, and so methinks, my boy,
     Thy fears infect me beyond reason. Peace!

     WULFNOTH. And then our fiery Tostig, while thy hands
     Are palsied here, if his Northumbrians rise
     And hurl him from them,—I have heard the Normans
     Count upon this confusion—may he not make
     A league with William, so to bring him back?

     HAROLD. That lies within the shadow of the chance.

     WULFNOTH. And like a river in flood thro' a burst dam
     Descends the ruthless Norman—our good King
     Kneels mumbling some old bone—our helpless folk
     Are wash'd away, wailing, in their own blood—

     HAROLD. Wailing! not warring? Boy, thou hast forgotten
     That thou art English.

     WULFNOTH.              Then our modest women—
     I know the Norman license—thine own Edith—

     HAROLD. No more! I will not hear thee—William comes.

     WULFNOTH. I dare not well be seen in talk with thee.
     Make thou not mention that I spake with thee.
                             [Moves away to the back of the stage.

         Enter WILLIAM, MALET, and OFFICER.

     OFFICER. We have the man that rail'd against thy birth.

     WILLIAM. Tear out his tongue.

     OFFICER. He shall not rail again.
     He said that he should see confusion fall
     On thee and on thine house.

     WILLIAM. Tear out his eyes, And plunge him into prison.

     OFFICER. It shall be done.
                                   [Exit OFFICER.

     WILLIAM. Look not amazed, fair earl! Better leave undone
     Than do by halves—tongueless and eyeless, prison'd—

     HAROLD. Better methinks have slain the man at once!

     WILLIAM. We have respect for man's immortal soul,
     We seldom take man's life, except in war;
     It frights the traitor more to maim and blind.

     HAROLD. In mine own land I should have scorn'd the man,
     Or lash'd his rascal back, and let him go.

     WILLIAM. And let him go? To slander thee again!
     Yet in thine own land in thy father's day
     They blinded my young kinsman, Alfred—ay,
     Some said it was thy father's deed.

     HAROLD. They lied.

     WILLIAM. But thou and he—whom at thy word, for thou
     Art known a speaker of the truth, I free
     From this foul charge—

     HAROLD. Nay, nay, he freed himself
     By oath and compurgation from the charge.
     The king, the lords, the people clear'd him of it.

     WILLIAM. But thou and he drove our good Normans out
     From England, and this rankles in us yet.
     Archbishop Robert hardly scaped with life.

     HAROLD. Archbishop Robert! Robert the Archbishop!
     Robert of Jumieges, he that—

     MALET.                       Quiet! quiet!

     HAROLD. Count! if there sat within the Norman chair
     A ruler all for England—one who fill'd
     All offices, all bishopricks with English—
     We could not move from Dover to the Humber
     Saving thro' Norman bishopricks—I say
     Ye would applaud that Norman who should drive
     The stranger to the fiends!

     WILLIAM. Why, that is reason!
     Warrior thou art, and mighty wise withal!
     Ay, ay, but many among our Norman lords
     Hate thee for this, and press upon me—saying
     God and the sea have given thee to our hands—
     To plunge thee into life-long prison here:—
     Yet I hold out against them, as I may,
     Yea—would hold out, yea, tho' they should revolt—
     For thou hast done the battle in my cause;
     I am thy fastest friend in Normandy.

     HAROLD. I am doubly bound to thee ... if this be so.

     WILLIAM. And I would bind thee more, and would myself
     Be bounden to thee more.

     HAROLD. Then let me hence With Wulfnoth to King Edward.

     WILLIAM. So we will. We hear he hath not long to live.

     HAROLD. It may be.

     WILLIAM. Why then the heir of England, who is he?

     HAROLD. The Atheling is nearest to the throne.

     WILLIAM. But sickly, slight, half-witted and a child,
     Will England have him king?

     HAROLD.                     It may be, no.

     WILLIAM. And hath King Edward not pronounced his heir?

     HAROLD. Not that I know.

     WILLIAM. When he was here in Normandy,
     He loved us and we him, because we found him.
     A Norman of the Normans.

     HAROLD.                  So did we.

     WILLIAM. A gentle, gracious, pure and saintly man!
     And grateful to the hand that shielded him,
     He promised that if ever he were king
     In England, he would give his kingly voice
     To me as his successor. Knowest thou this?

     HAROLD. I learn it now.

     WILLIAM.                Thou knowest I am his cousin,
     And that my wife descends from Alfred?

     HAROLD.                                Ay.

     WILLIAM. Who hath a better claim then to the crown
     So that ye will not crown the Atheling?

     HAROLD. None that I know ... if that but hung upon
     King Edward's will.

     WILLIAM. Wilt thou uphold my claim?

     MALET (aside to HAROLD).
     Be careful of thine answer, my good friend.

     WULFNOTH (aside to HAROLD).
     Oh! Harold, for my sake and for thine own!

     HAROLD. Ay ... if the king have not revoked his promise.

     WILLIAM. But hath he done it then?

     HAROLD. Not that I know.

     WILLIAM. Good, good, and thou wilt help me to the crown?

     HAROLD. Ay ... if the Witan will consent to this.

     WILLIAM. Thou art the mightiest voice in England, man,
     Thy voice will lead the Witan—shall I have it?

     WULFNOTH (aside to HAROLD).
     Oh! Harold, if thou love thine Edith, ay.

     HAROLD. Ay, if—

     MALET (aside to HAROLD).
     Thine 'ifs' will sear thine eyes out—ay.

     WILLIAM. I ask thee, wilt thou help me to the crown?
     And I will make thee my great Earl of Earls,
     Foremost in England and in Normandy;
     Thou shalt be verily king—all but the name—
     For I shall most sojourn in Normandy;
     And thou be my vice-king in England. Speak.

     WULFNOTH (aside to HAROLD).
     Ay, brother—for the sake of England—ay.

     HAROLD. My lord—

     MALET (aside to HAROLD).
                      Take heed now.

     HAROLD.                         Ay.

     WILLIAM.                            I am content,
     For thou art truthful, and thy word thy bond.
     To-morrow will we ride with thee to Harfleur.
                                           [Exit WILLIAM.

     MALET. Harold, I am thy friend, one life with thee,
     And even as I should bless thee saving mine,
     I thank thee now for having saved thyself.
                                           [Exit MALET.

     HAROLD. For having lost myself to save myself,
     Said 'ay' when I meant 'no,' lied like a lad
     That dreads the pendent scourge, said 'ay' for 'no'!
     Ay! No!—he hath not bound me by an oath—
     Is 'ay' an oath? is 'ay' strong as an oath?
     Or is it the same sin to break my word
     As break mine oath? He call'd my word my bond!
     He is a liar who knows I am a liar,
     And makes believe that he believes my word—
     The crime be on his head—not bounden—no.

         [Suddenly doors are flung open, discovering in an
         inner hall COUNT WILLIAM in his state robes,
         seated upon his throne, between two BISHOPS,
         ODO OP BAYEUX being one: in the centre of
         the hall an ark covered with cloth of gold;
         and on either side of it the NORMAN BARONS.

         Enter a JAILOR before WILLIAM'S throne.

     WILLIAM (to JAILOR).
     Knave, hast thou let thy prisoner scape?

     JAILOR.                                  Sir Count,
     He had but one foot, he must have hopt away,
     Yea, some familiar spirit must have help'd him.

     WILLIAM. Woe knave to thy familiar and to thee!
     Give me thy keys.    [They fall clashing.
     Nay let them lie. Stand there and wait my will.

                                [The JAILOR stands aside.

     WILLIAM (to HAROLD).
     Hast thou such trustless jailors in thy North?

     HAROLD. We have few prisoners in mine earldom there,
     So less chance for false keepers.

     WILLIAM.                          We have heard
     Of thy just, mild, and equal governance;
     Honour to thee! thou art perfect in all honour!
     Thy naked word thy bond! confirm it now
     Before our gather'd Norman baronage,
     For they will not believe thee—as I believe.
             [Descends from his throne and stands by the ark.
     Let all men here bear witness of our bond!
             [Beckons to HAROLD, who advances.

         Enter MALET behind him.

     Lay thou thy hand upon this golden pall!
     Behold the jewel of St. Pancratius
     Woven into the gold. Swear thou on this!

     HAROLD. What should I swear? Why should I swear on this?

     WILLIAM (savagely).
     Swear thou to help me to the crown of England.

     MALET (whispering HAROLD).
     My friend, thou hast gone too far to palter now.

     WULFNOTH (whispering HAROLD).
     Swear thou to-day, to-morrow is thine own.

     HAROLD. I swear to help thee to the crown of England ...
     According as King Edward promises.

     WILLIAM. Thou must swear absolutely, noble Earl.

     MALET (whispering).
     Delay is death to thee, ruin to England.

     WULFNOTH (whispering).
     Swear, dearest brother, I beseech thee, swear!

     HAROLD (putting his hand on the jewel).
     I swear to help thee to the crown of England.

     WILLIAM. Thanks, truthful Earl; I did not doubt thy word,
     But that my barons might believe thy word,
     And that the Holy Saints of Normandy
     When thou art home in England, with thine own,
     Might strengthen thee in keeping of thy word,
     I made thee swear.—Show him by whom he hath sworn.

         [The two BISHOPS advance, and raise the cloth of gold.
         The bodies and bones of Saints are seen lying in the ark.

     The holy bones of all the Canonised
     From all the holiest shrines in Normandy!

     HAROLD. Horrible!    [They let the cloth fall again.

     WILLIAM. Ay, for thou hast sworn an oath
     Which, if not kept, would make the hard earth rive
     To the very Devil's horns, the bright sky cleave
     To the very feet of God, and send her hosts
     Of injured Saints to scatter sparks of plague
     Thro' all your cities, blast your infants, dash
     The torch of war among your standing corn,
     Dabble your hearths with your own blood.—Enough!
     Thou wilt not break it! I, the Count—the King—
     Thy friend—am grateful for thine honest oath,
     Not coming fiercely like a conqueror, now,
     But softly as a bridegroom to his own.
     For I shall rule according to your laws,
     And make your ever-jarring Earldoms move
     To music and in order—Angle, Jute,
     Dane, Saxon, Norman, help to build a throne
     Out-towering hers of France.... The wind is fair
     For England now.... To-night we will be merry.
     To-morrow will I ride with thee to Harfleur.

            [Exeunt WILLIAM and all the NORMAN BARONS, etc.

     HAROLD. To-night we will be merry—and to-morrow—
     Juggler and bastard—bastard—he hates that most—
     William the tanner's bastard! Would he heard me!
     O God, that I were in some wide, waste field
     With nothing but my battle-axe and him
     To spatter his brains! Why let earth rive, gulf in
     These cursed Normans—yea and mine own self.
     Cleave heaven, and send thy saints that I may say
     Ev'n to their faces, 'If ye side with William
     Ye are not noble.' How their pointed fingers
     Glared at me! Am I Harold, Harold, son
     Of our great Godwin? Lo! I touch mine arms,
     My limbs—they are not mine—they are a liar's—
     I mean to be a liar—I am not bound—
     Stigand shall give me absolution for it—
     Did the chest move? did it move? I am utter craven!
     O Wulfnoth, Wulfnoth, brother, thou hast betray'd me!

     WULFNOTH. Forgive me, brother, I will live here and die.

         Enter PAGE.

     PAGE. My lord! the Duke awaits thee at the banquet.

     HAROLD. Where they eat dead men's flesh, and drink their blood.

     PAGE. My lord—

     HAROLD.        I know your Norman cookery is so spiced,
     It masks all this.

     PAGE.              My lord! thou art white as death.

     HAROLD. With looking on the dead. Am I so white?
     Thy Duke will seem the darker. Hence, I follow.

                                              [Exeunt.