ALDWYTH. I go. (_Aside_.) That I could stab her standing there! [_Exit_ ALDWYTH. EDITH. Alas, my lord, she loved thee. HAROLD. Never! never! EDITH. I saw it in her eyes! HAROLD. I see it in thine. And not on thee--nor England--fall God's doom! EDITH. On _thee?_ on me. And thou art England! Alfred Was England. Ethelred was nothing. England Is but her king, and thou art Harold! HAROLD. Edith, The sign in heaven--the sudden blast at sea-- My fatal oath--the dead Saints--the dark dreams-- The Pope's Anathema--the Holy Rood That bow'd to me at Waltham--Edith, if I, the last English King of England-- EDITH. No, First of a line that coming from the people, And chosen by the people-- HAROLD. And fighting for And dying for the people-- EDITH. Living! living! HAROLD. Yea so, good cheer! thou art Harold, I am Edith! Look not thus wan! EDITH. What matters how I look? Have we not broken Wales and Norseland? slain, Whose life was all one battle, incarnate war, Their giant-king, a mightier man-in-arms Than William. HAROLD. Ay, my girl, no tricks in him-- No bastard he! when all was lost, he yell'd, And bit his shield, and dash'd it on the ground, And swaying his two-handed sword about him, Two deaths at every swing, ran in upon us And died so, and I loved him as I hate This liar who made me liar. If Hate can kill, And Loathing wield a Saxon battle-axe-- EDITH. Waste not thy might before the battle! HAROLD. No, And thou must hence. Stigand will see thee safe, And so--Farewell. [_He is going, but turns back_. The ring thou darest not wear. I have had it fashion'd, see, to meet my hand. [HAROLD _shows the ring which is on his finger_. Farewell! [_He is going, but turns back again_. I am dead as Death this day to ought of earth's Save William's death or mine. EDITH. Thy death!--to-day! Is it not thy birthday? HAROLD. Ay, that happy day! A birthday welcome! happy days and many! One--this! [_They embrace_. Look, I will bear thy blessing into the battle And front the doom of God. NORMAN CRIES (_heard in the distance_). Ha Rou! Ha Rou! _Enter_ GURTH. GURTH. The Norman moves! HAROLD. Harold and Holy Cross! [_Exeunt_ HAROLD _and_ GURTH. _Enter_ STIGAND. STIGAND. Our Church in arms--the lamb the lion--not Spear into pruning-hook--the counter way-- Cowl, helm; and crozier, battle-axe. Abbot Alfwig, Leofric, and all the monks of Peterboro' Strike for the king; but I, old wretch, old Stigand, With hands too limp to brandish iron--and yet I have a power--would Harold ask me for it-- I have a power. EDITH. What power, holy father?