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Madam, you have but cut the canvas out : We can replace it.
Mary. All is well then ; restI will to rest ; he said, I must have rest.
[Cries of Elizabeth' in the street. A cry! What's that ? Elizabeth ? revolt? A new Northumberland, another Wyatt? I'll fight it on the threshold of the grave. Lady Clarence. Madam, your royal
sister comes to see you. Mary. I will not see her. Who knows if Boleyn's daughter be my
sister? I will see none except the priest. Your
arm. [To Lady Clarence. O Saint of Aragon, with that sweet worn
smile Among thy patient wrinkles—Help me hence.
The Priest passes. Enter ELIZABETH
and SIR WILLIAM CECIL.
Remember that! 'twas I and Bonner did
it, And Pole; we are three to one-Have
you found mercy there, Grant it me here : and see, he smiles and
goes, Gentle as in life. Alice. Madam, who goes? King
but never goes. Women, when I am dead, Open my heart, and there you will find
written Two names, Philip and Calais ; open
his,So that he have one, You will find Philip only, policy,
policy, Ay, worse than that-not one hour true
to me! Foul maggots crawling in a fester'd vice ! Adulterous to the very heart of Hell. Hast thou a knife ? Alice. Ay, Madam, but o'God's
mercyMary. Fool, think’st thou I would
peril mine own soul By slaughter of the body? I could not,
girl, Not this way-callous with a constant
stripe, Unwoundable. The knife ! Alice.
Take heed, take heed ! The blade is keen as death. Mary.
This Philip shall not Stare in upon me in my haggardness; Old, miserable, diseased, Incapable of children. Come thou down. [Cuts out the picture and throws it down. Lie there. (Wails) O God, I have
kill'd my Philip! Alice.
Elizabeth. Good counsel yours
No one in waiting ? still, As if the chamberlain were Death himself ! The room she sleeps in—is not this the
way? No, that way there are voices. Am
too late ? Cecil . . . God guide me lest I lose the way.
[Exit Elizabeth. Cecil. Many points weather'd, many
perilous ones, At last a harbour opens ; but therein Sunk rocks—they need fine steering
much it is To be nor mad, nor bigot-have a mindNor let Priests' talk, or dream of worlds
to be, Miscolour things about her-sudden
touches For him, or him—sunk rocks; no
But—if let be-balance and compromise ; Brave, wary, sane to the heart of her-a
Tudor Schoold by the shadow of death-a
Boleyn, too, Glancing across the Tudor-not so well.
Enter ALICE. How is the good Queen now? Alice.
Away from Philip. Back in her childhood-prattling to her
mother Of her betrothal to the Emperor Charles, And childlike-jealous of him again-and
once She thank'd her father sweetly for his book Against that godless German. Ah, those
days Were happy. It was never merry world In England, since the Bible came among
Pray'd me to pay her debts, and keep the
Faith; Then claspt the cross, and pass'd away
in peace. I left her lying still and beautiful, More beautiful than in life. Why would
you vex yourself, Poor sister? Sir, I swear I have no heart To be your Queen. To reign is restless
fence, Tierce, quart, and trickery. Peace is with
the dead. Her life was winter, for her spring was
nipt : And she loved much : pray God she be
forgiven. Cecil. Peace with the dead, who never
were at peace! Yet she loved one so much-I needs must
sayThat never English monarch dying left England so little.
Elizabeth. But with Cecil's aid And others, if our person be secured From traitor stabs—we will make England
Cecil. And who says that?
England, Till all men have their Bible, rich and
knowledged me her heir,
Enter PAGET, and other LORDS OF THE
COUNCIL, SIR RALPH BAGENHALL, &c.
Lords. God save Elizabeth, the Queen
of England ! Bagenhall. God save the Crown ! the
Papacy is no more. Paget (aside). Are we so sure of
that? Acclamation. God save the Queen !
To His ExCELLENCY
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.
SHOW-DAY AT BATTLE ABBEY, 1876.
The NORMAN BISHOP OF LONDON.
| Sons of
| Sons of Alfgar of
Guy, Count of Ponthieu.
HUGH MARGOT, a Norman Monk.
*. . . quidam partim Normannus et Anglus
I think that they would Molochize them
too, To have the heavens clear.
Aldwyth. They fright not me. (Finter 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
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.
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.
The doom of England and the wrath of
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 Jumiéges—well-nigh murder
him too? Is there no reason for the wrath of
Heaven hath three tails,
[Exit Bishop of London. (Enter ARCHBISHOP STIGAND.)
Ask our Archbishop. Stigand should know the purposes of
face of heaven; Perhaps our vines will grow the better for
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
Gamel. Art thou sick, good Earl?
for a voyage, Sick for an idle week of hawk and hound Beyond the seas—a change! When
camest thou hither?
thy brother breaks us
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
[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 Eng
land. 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
Of Nature is the hot religious fool,
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 !