Queen Mary; and, Harold

AFTER THE BATTLE OF STAMFORD-BRIDGE. BANQUET.

HAROLD _and_ ALDWYTH. GURTH, LEOFWIN, MORCAR, EDWIN, _and other_ EARLS _and_ THANES.

Voices. Hail! Harold! Aldwyth! hail, bridegroom and bride!

Aldwyth. (_talking with_ HAROLD) Answer them thou! Is this our marriage-banquet? Would the wines Of wedding had been dash'd into the cups Of victory, and our marriage and thy glory Been drunk together! these poor hands but sew, Spin, broider--would that they were man's to have held The battle-axe by thee!

Harold. There _was_ a moment When being forced aloof from all my guard, And striking at Hardrada and his madmen I had wish'd for any weapon.

Aldwyth. Why art thou sad?

Harold. I have lost the boy who play'd at ball with me, With whom I fought another fight than this Of Stamford-bridge.

Aldwyth. Ay! ay! thy victories Over our own poor Wales, when at thy side He conquer'd with thee.

Harold. No--the childish fist That cannot strike again.

Aldwyth. Thou art too kindly. Why didst thou let so many Norsemen hence? Thy fierce forekings had clench'd their pirate hides To the bleak church doors, like kites upon a barn.

Harold. Is there so great a need to tell thee why?

Aldwyth. Yea, am I not thy wife?

Voices. Hail, Harold, Aldwyth! Bridegroom and bride!

Aldwyth. Answer them! [_To_ HAROLD.

Harold. (_to all_) Earls and Thanes! Full thanks for your fair greeting of my bride! Earls, Thanes, and all our countrymen! the day, Our day beside the Derwent will not shine Less than a star among the goldenest hours Of Alfred, or of Edward his great son, Or Athelstan, or English Ironside Who fought with Knut, or Knut who coming Dane Died English. Every man about his king Fought like a king; the king like his own man, No better; one for all, and all for one, One soul! and therefore have we shatter'd back The hugest wave from Norseland ever yet Surged on us, and our battle-axes broken The Raven's wing, and dumb'd his carrion croak From the gray sea for ever. Many are gone-- Drink to the dead who died for us, the living Who fought and would have died, but happier lived, If happier be to live; they both have life In the large mouth of England, till _her_ voice Die with the world. Hail--hail!

Morcar. May all invaders perish like Hardrada! All traitors fail like Tostig. [_All drink but_ HAROLD.

Aldwyth. Thy cup's full!

Harold. I saw the hand of Tostig cover it. Our dear, dead, traitor-brother, Tostig, him Reverently we buried. Friends, had I been here, Without too large self-lauding I must hold The sequel had been other than his league With Norway, and this battle. Peace be with him! He was not of the worst. If there be those At banquet in this hall, and hearing me-- For there be those I fear who prick'd the lion To make him spring, that sight of Danish blood Might serve an end not English--peace with them Likewise, if they can be at peace with what God gave us to divide us from the wolf!

Aldwyth. (_aside to_ HAROLD) Make not our Morcar sullen: it is not wise.

Harold. Hail to the living who fought, the dead who fell!

Voices. Hail, hail!

First Thane. How ran that answer which King Harold gave To his dead namesake, when he ask'd for England?

Leofwin. 'Seven feet of English earth, or something more, Seeing he is a giant!'

First Thane. Then for the bastard Six feet and nothing more!

Leofwin. Ay, but belike Thou hast not learnt his measure.

First Thane. By St. Edmund I over-measure him. Sound sleep to the man Here by dead Norway without dream or dawn!

Second Thane. What is he bragging still that he will come To thrust our Harold's throne from under him? My nurse would tell me of a molehill crying To a mountain 'Stand aside and room for me!'

First Thane. Let him come! let him come. Here's to him, sink or swim! [_Drinks_.

Second Thane. God sink him!

First Thane. Cannot hands which had the strength To shove that stranded iceberg off our shores, And send the shatter'd North again to sea, Scuttle his cockle-shell? What's Brunanburg To Stamford-bridge? a war-crash, and so hard, So loud, that, by St. Dunstan, old St. Thor-- By God, we thought him dead--but our old Thor Heard his own thunder again, and woke and came Among us again, and mark'd the sons of those Who made this Britain England, break the North:

Mark'd how the war-axe swang, Heard how the war-horn sang, Mark'd how the spear-head sprang, Heard how the shield-wall rang, Iron on iron clang, Anvil on hammer bang--

Second Thane. Hammer on anvil, hammer on anvil. Old dog, Thou art drunk, old dog!

First Thane. Too drunk to fight with thee!

Second Thane. Fight thou with thine own double, not with me, Keep that for Norman William!

First Thane. Down with William!

THIRD THANE. The washerwoman's brat!

FOURTH THANE. The tanner's bastard!

FIFTH THANE. The Falaise byblow!

[_Enter a_ THANE, _from Pevensey, spattered with mud_.

Harold. Ay, but what late guest, As haggard as a fast of forty days, And caked and plaster'd with a hundred mires, Hath stumbled on our cups?

THANE _from Pevensey_. My lord the King! William the Norman, for the wind had changed--

Harold. I felt it in the middle of that fierce fight At Stamford-bridge. William hath landed, ha?

THANE _from Pevensey_. Landed at Pevensey--I am from Pevensey-- Hath wasted all the land at Pevensey-- Hath harried mine own cattle--God confound him! I have ridden night and day from Pevensey-- A thousand ships--a hundred thousand men-- Thousands of horses, like as many lions Neighing and roaring as they leapt to land--

Harold. How oft in coming hast thou broken bread?

THANE _from Pevensey_. Some thrice, or so.

Harold. Bring not thy hollowness On our full feast. Famine is fear, were it but Of being starved. Sit down, sit down, and eat, And, when again red-blooded, speak again; (_Aside_.) The men that guarded England to the South Were scatter'd to the harvest.... No power mine To hold their force together.... Many are fallen At Stamford-bridge ... the people stupid-sure Sleep like their swine ... in South and North at once I could not be. (_Aloud_.) Gurth, Leofwin, Morcar, Edwin! (_Pointing to the revellers_.) The curse of England! these are drown'd in wassail, And cannot see the world but thro' their wines! Leave them! and thee too, Aldwyth, must I leave-- Harsh is the news! hard is our honeymoon! Thy pardon. (_Turning round to his_ ATTENDANTS.) Break the banquet up ... Ye four! And thou, my carrier-pigeon of black news, Cram thy crop full, but come when thou art call'd.

[_Exit_ HAROLD.