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?