 | Earl Goodwin |  |
16
Enter Goodwin and Servant.
Goodwin.
Be ev'ry horse prepar'd within the hour;
I go in haste to Kent.
Servant.
They shall my lord.
[Exit Servant.
Goodwin.
Edward, thou art secure; but I will chase
Sleep from thy pillow, till thou dost confess
How highly thou hast wrong'd this mourning land;
Extortion leaves each subject half a meal,
Shrieking o'er ev'ry roof: the shiv'ring hind,
Pinch'd doubly by the winds and pallid want,
Reluctant feeds the lazy priest. O Heav'n!
Are these man's righteous dealing? And may kings
Bring thus a boasted off'ring at the cost
Of poor defenceless misery?
Enter Harold.
Why my son
Art thou return'd?
Harold.
To guard thee to thy friends:
Swaine brings on Oxford, Somerset, and Berkshire,
The men of Gloster, and of Hereford;
My pow'rs are rais'd in Essex, Norfolk, Suffolk,
In Huntingdon, and Berkshire; nothing waits
But noble Goodwin.
Goodwin.
Where is Tostie?
Harold.
Safe
On board our fleet.
17
His temper's fierce, my son:
Look well to his wild fury, lest he force
The rage of war too far: my fellow-subjects
Must be preserv'd, not made our victims.
Harold.
Heav'n!
Deal thou my father's spirit to my brother,
And he shall never err. My gen'rous sire,
I've pleasing news—Young Leofwine, thy son,
From Bristol comes, to clasp thee in his arms.
Goodwin.
My blooming boy! his hardihood shall make
An old man brave: now youthful fire is mine—
And ardour, be it ne'er so transient deem'd
In souls like Goodwin's, yet illumes the path
Which soon must end.
Harold.
Ah! pause, my much-lov'd father!
Far be that hour!—thy speech to Harold's ear
Is mingled fame and death—
Goodwin.
So I would have it;
For he who dares divide them, nought deserves
But Proteus-like opinion, when the wind
Of praise sits fair for fools. Then know, my Harold,
The plaudit of the croud I scorn!—my soul
Shall find content in self-applause.
Enter Messenger.
Messenger.
My Lord,
The king desires your presence.
18
Where is the king?
Messenger.
Preparing to attend queen Emma's trial—
Fix'd on the pavement near the abbey.
Goodwin.
No;
Thy message cannot be for me.
Messenger.
Yourself,
With all your noble sons, are summon'd.
Harold.
Hence,
And say my spurs are dull.
Goodwin.
Or mildly say,
Goodwin is busy playing with his hawk.—
We will not come.
Messenger.
My lords, I may not bear
An answer so irreverent.
Goodwin.
What soft tale
May we place on thy servile lip?—Away!
Our state admits no parley—We will come
As time and humour suit us.
[Exit Messenger.
Harold.
This will work.
We must away—our challenge soon will sink
Deep in the ear of Edward.
Goodwin.
By yon sun,
19
To the complaint of England. Private woe
Spreads not a gen'ral malady; and we
Must see Editha pine, through lengthen'd hours,
In grief we may not notice; but the wrongs
Of this much-injur'd land shall have redress,
Batt'ring the soul of Edward till her pow'rs
Dissolve 'mid hideous ruin. On my boy!
Thy youth shall see a fair meridian—yet
May Goodwin teach thee how to bravely die.
| Earl Goodwin | |