HAROLD. The nightingales in Havering-at-the-Bower Sang out their loves so loud, that Edward's prayers Were deafen'd and he pray'd them dumb, and thus I dumb thee too, my wingless nightingale! [_Kissing her_. EDITH. Thou art my music! Would their wings were mine To follow thee to Flanders! Must thou go? HAROLD. Not must, but will. It is but for one moon. EDITH. Leaving so many foes in Edward's hall To league against thy weal. The Lady Aldwyth Was here to-day, and when she touch'd on thee, She stammer'd in her hate; I am sure she hates thee, Pants for thy blood. HAROLD. Well, I have given her cause-- I fear no woman. EDITH. Hate not one who felt Some pity for thy hater! I am sure Her morning wanted sunlight, she so praised The convent and lone life--within the pale-- Beyond the passion. Nay--she held with Edward, At least methought she held with holy Edward, That marriage was half sin. HAROLD. A lesson worth Finger and thumb--thus (_snaps his fingers_). And my answer to it-- See here--an interwoven H and E! Take thou this ring; I will demand his ward From Edward when I come again. Ay, would she? She to shut up my blossom in the dark! Thou art _my_ nun, thy cloister in mine arms. EDITH (_taking the ring_). Yea, but Earl Tostig-- HAROLD. That's a truer fear! For if the North take fire, I should be back; I shall be, soon enough. EDITH. Ay, but last night An evil dream that ever came and went-- HAROLD. A gnat that vext thy pillow! Had I been by, I would have spoil'd his horn. My girl, what was it? EDITH. Oh! that thou wert not going! For so methought it was our marriage-morn, And while we stood together, a dead man Rose from behind the altar, tore away My marriage ring, and rent my bridal veil; And then I turn'd, and saw the church all fill'd With dead men upright from their graves, and all The dead men made at thee to murder thee, But thou didst back thyself against a pillar, And strike among them with thy battle-axe-- There, what a dream! HAROLD. Well, well--a dream--no more! EDITH. Did not Heaven speak to men in dreams of old? HAROLD. Ay--well--of old. I tell thee what, my child; Thou hast misread this merry dream of thine, Taken the rifted pillars of the wood For smooth stone columns of the sanctuary, The shadows of a hundred fat dead deer For dead men's ghosts. True, that the battle-axe Was out of place; it should have been the bow.-- Come, thou shalt dream no more such dreams; I swear it, By mine own eyes--and these two sapphires--these Twin rubies, that are amulets against all The kisses of all kind of womankind In Flanders, till the sea shall roll me back To tumble at thy feet. EDITH. That would but shame me, Rather than make me vain. The sea may roll Sand, shingle, shore-weed, not the living rock Which guards the land.