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, &c.

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

HAROLD.

With looking on the dead. Am I so white?

Thy Duke will seem the darker. Hence, I follow.

[Exeunt.

ACT III.

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

KING EDWARD dying on a couch, and by him stand

ing 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!