MARGOT. Hear it thro' me. The realm for which thou art forsworn is cursed, The babe enwomb'd and at the breast is cursed, The corpse thou whelmest with thine earth is cursed, The soul who fighteth on thy side is cursed, The seed thou sowest in thy field is cursed, The steer wherewith thou plowest thy field is cursed, The fowl that fleeth o'er thy field is cursed, And thou, usurper, liar-- HAROLD. Out, beast monk! [_Lifting his hand to strike him_. GURTH _stops the blow_. I ever hated monks. MARGOT. I am but a voice Among you: murder, martyr me if ye will-- HAROLD. Thanks, Gurth! The simple, silent, selfless man Is worth a world of tonguesters. (_To_ MARGOT.) Get thee gone! He means the thing he says. See him out safe! LEOFWIN. He hath blown himself as red as fire with curses. An honest fool! Follow me, honest fool, But if thou blurt thy curse among our folk, I know not--I may give that egg-bald head The tap that silences. HAROLD. See him out safe. [_Exeunt_ LEOFWIN _and_ MARGOT. GURTH. Thou hast lost thine even temper, brother Harold! HAROLD. Gurth, when I past by Waltham, my foundation For men who serve the neighbour, not themselves, I cast me down prone, praying; and, when I rose, They told me that the Holy Rood had lean'd And bow'd above me; whether that which held it Had weaken'd, and the Rood itself were bound To that necessity which binds us down; Whether it bow'd at all but in their fancy; Or if it bow'd, whether it symbol'd ruin Or glory, who shall tell? but they were sad, And somewhat sadden'd me. GURTH. Yet if a fear, Or shadow of a fear, lest the strange Saints By whom thou swarest, should have power to balk Thy puissance in this fight with him, who made And heard thee swear--brother--_I_ have not sworn-- If the king fall, may not the kingdom fall? But if I fall, I fall, and thou art king; And, if I win, I win, and thou art king; Draw thou to London, there make strength to breast Whatever chance, but leave this day to me. LEOFWIN (_entering_). And waste the land about thee as thou goest, And be thy hand as winter on the field, To leave the foe no forage. HAROLD. Noble Gurth! Best son of Godwin! If I fall, I fall-- The doom of God! How should the people fight When the king flies? And, Leofwin, art thou mad? How should the King of England waste the fields Of England, his own people?--No glance yet Of the Northumbrian helmet on the heath? LEOFWIN. No, but a shoal of wives upon the heath, And someone saw thy willy-nilly nun Vying a tress against our golden fern. HAROLD. Vying a tear with our cold dews, a sigh With these low-moaning heavens. Let her be fetch'd. We have parted from our wife without reproach, Tho' we have dived thro' all her practices; And that is well. LEOFWIN. I saw her even now: She hath not left us. HAROLD. Nought of Morcar then?