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.

HAROLD. May be so!

I think it so, I think I am a fool To think it can be otherwise than so.

STIGAND. Tut, tut, I have absolved thee: dost thou scorn me, Because I had my Canterbury pallium, From one whom they dispoped?

HAROLD. No, Stigand, no!

STIGAND. Is naked truth actable in true life?

I have heard a saying of thy father G.o.dwin, That, were a man of state nakedly true, Men would but take him for the craftier liar.

LEOFWIN. Be men less delicate than the Devil himself?

I thought that naked Truth would shame the Devil, The Devil is so modest.

GURTH. He never said it!

LEOFWIN. Be thou not stupid-honest, brother Gurth!

HAROLD. Better to be a liar's dog, and hold My master honest, than believe that lying And ruling men are fatal twins that cannot Move one without the other. Edward wakes!-- Dazed--he hath seen a vision.

EDWARD. The green tree!

Then a great Angel past along the highest Crying 'the doom of England,' and at once He stood beside me, in his grasp a sword Of lightnings, wherewithal he cleft the tree From off the bearing trunk, and hurl'd it from him Three fields away, and then he dash'd and drench'd, He dyed, he soak'd the trunk with human blood, And brought the sunder'd tree again, and set it Straight on the trunk, that thus baptized in blood Grew ever high and higher, beyond my seeing, And shot out sidelong boughs across the deep That dropt themselves, and rooted in far isles Beyond my seeing: and the great Angel rose And past again along the highest crying 'The doom of England!'--Tostig, raise my head!

[_Falls back senseless_.

HAROLD (_raising him_).

Let Harold serve for Tostig!

_QUEEN_. Harold served Tostig so ill, he cannot serve for Tostig!

Ay, raise his head, for thou hast laid it low!

The sickness of our saintly king, for whom My prayers go up as fast as my tears fall, I well believe, hath mainly drawn itself From lack of Tostig--thou hast banish'd him.

HAROLD. Nay--but the council, and the king himself.

QUEEN. Thou hatest him, hatest him.

HAROLD (_coldly_).

Ay--Stigand, unriddle This vision, canst thou?

STIGAND. Dotage!

EDWARD (_starting up_).

It is finish'd.

I have built the Lord a house--the Lord hath dwelt In darkness. I have built the Lord a house-- Palms, flowers, pomegranates, golden cherubim With twenty-cubit wings from wall to wall-- I have built the Lord a house--sing, Asaph! clash The cymbal, Heman! blow the trumpet, priest!

Fall, cloud, and fill the house--lo! my two pillars, Jachin and Boaz!-- [_Seeing_ HAROLD _and_ GURTH.

Harold, Gurth,--where am I?

Where is the charter of our Westminster?

STIGAND. It lies beside thee, king, upon thy bed.

EDWARD. Sign, sign at once--take, sign it, Stigand, Aldred!

Sign it, my good son Harold, Gurth, and Leofwin, Sign it, my queen!

ALL. We have sign'd it.

EDWARD. It is finish'd!

The kingliest Abbey in all Christian lands, The lordliest, loftiest minster ever built To Holy Peter in our English isle!

Let me be buried there, and all our kings, And all our just and wise and holy men That shall be born hereafter. It is finish'd!

Hast thou had absolution for thine oath? [_To_ HAROLD.

HAROLD. Stigand hath given me absolution for it.

EDWARD. Stigand is not canonical enough To save thee from the wrath of Norman Saints.

STIGAND. Norman enough! Be there no Saints of England To help us from their brethren yonder?

EDWARD. Prelate, The Saints are one, but those of Normanland Are mightier than our own. Ask it of Aldred.

[_To_ HAROLD.

ALDRED. It shall be granted him, my king; for he Who vows a vow to strangle his own mother Is guiltier keeping this, than breaking it.

EDWARD. O friends, I shall not overlive the day.

STIGAND. Why then the throne is empty. Who inherits?

For tho' we be not bound by the king's voice In making of a king, yet the king's voice Is much toward his making. Who inherits?

Edgar the Atheling?

EDWARD. No, no, but Harold.

I love him: he hath served me: none but he Can rule all England. Yet the curse is on him For swearing falsely by those blessed bones; He did not mean to keep his vow.

HAROLD. Not mean To make our England Norman.

EDWARD. There spake G.o.dwin, Who hated all the Normans; but their Saints Have heard thee, Harold.

EDITH. Oh! my lord, my king!

He knew not whom he sware by.

EDWARD. Yea, I know He knew not, but those heavenly ears have heard, Their curse is on him; wilt thou bring another, Edith, upon his head?

EDITH. No, no, not I.

EDWARD. Why then, thou must not wed him.

HAROLD. Wherefore, wherefore?

EDWARD. O son, when thou didst tell me of thine oath, I sorrow'd for my random promise given To yon fox-lion. I did not dream then I should be king.--My son, the Saints are virgins; They love the white rose of virginity, The cold, white lily blowing in her cell: I have been myself a virgin; and I sware To consecrate my virgin here to heaven-- The silent, cloister'd, solitary life, A life of life-long prayer against the curse That lies on thee and England.

HAROLD. No, no, no.