Act III

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

KING EDWARD dying on a couch, and by him standing the QUEEN, HAROLD, ARCHBISHOP STIGAND, GURTH, LEOFWIN, ARCHBISHOP ALDRED, ALDWYTH, and EDITH.

STIGAND. Sleeping or dying there? If this be death, Then our great Council wait to crown thee King-- Come hither, I have a power; [To HAROLD. They call me near, for I am close to thee And 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 these To chink against the Norman, I do believe My old crook'd spine would bud out two young wings To 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 cannot Make done undone, when thro' his dying sense Shrills 'lost thro' thee.' They have built their castles here; Our priories are Norman; the Norman adder Hath bitten us; we are poison'd: our dear England Is demi-Norman. He!-- [Pointing to KING EDWARD, sleeping.

HAROLD. I would I were As 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 gusts From a side-gorge. Passionless? How he flamed When Tostig's anger'd earldom flung him, nay, He fain had calcined all Northumbria To one black ash, but that thy patriot passion Siding 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 state Which 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 longer Remain a hostage for the loyalty Of Godwin's house.' As far as touches Wulfnoth I that so prized plain word and naked truth Have 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.