University of Virginia Library

SCENE, Westminster.
Goodwin, Harold, Tostie, Swaine, Girth, and Leofwine, with Soldiers, on one Side; Siward, Rodulfe, with the King's Party, on the other.
Goodwin.
Why stays the King leaving us time to doubt?
—The hour's expir'd.

Siward.
Not so, brave Earl—for me,
I'd rather join the ring with village maids,
And skip to the wild music of a reed,
Than aid this war:—I would not kill thee, Goodwin,
So much I love thy virtues: but should rage
Bid thee oppose thy sword to Siward's heart;
Why then, would Nature, in her saving mood,
Rouze Siward's spirit to that furious charge
Which fools term honour, wise men folly.

Goodwin
(smiling.)
I'll shun thee in the combat.

Siward.
Then I'll say,
Goodwin doth from a coward run away.

Goodwin.
Thou art not so, I've seen thee fight.

Siward.
I've seen
Prodigious and old-fashion'd things: a King
So good his people bless'd him; women wise;
A fop at pray'r; and once I did observe
A courtier ceas'd to fawn; an aged statesman,
With head of silver foliage, spurn'd the block,
Yea threw the ax on his good Prince's toes;
—Then smil'd at legal murder: Such strange things
Have no accompt, like Siward's valour.

Harold.
Hold!—

Enter Edward and Canterbury, with Leofricke.
Edward.
Now daring Saxons, why are you aggriev'd?
Speak loud your injuries, if such you feel,
But weigh your clamours against truth.

Goodwin.
I dare,
And truth shall sound my clamours with a voice
That shall apall thee! England speaks by me,
Pleading her public funds are deeply drain'd
To swell the priestly revenue. Her sons
Oppress'd, till they forsake the glebe untill'd,
And stand like statues stiffen'd by despair.

Edward.
And whither tends thy bold harrangue?

Goodwin.
Yet hear,—
Relieve thy people's burthen.—Why affright
The simple mind from honest toil, or charge
The clown with ghostly cumbrance? If thy priests
Act for the Deity, ah, bid them spare,
Like him, a pow'rless race!

Edward.
Thou'rt bold and rash.—
But on,—one remedy may serve for all.

Goodwin.
Thy mother, by the influence of thy monks,
And wily Canterbury, was to shame
A public sacrifice.

Edward.
Why wilt thou err?
—It cleared her from imputed guilt.

Goodwin.
Not so,
The black suspicion still remains! What law,
What vulgar scourge, or burning iron clears
The tainted thought o' the people?

Edward.
Should a woman,
Once nam'd unchaste, oppose our priest's example?
That were to give the reign to vice.

Goodwin.
When priests
Can fright a King from her he ought to love,
Their precepts must be holy! Hear me yet,
—The sum of all our troubles shall be brief:
First, thou the heavy tribute shall remit
Of forty thousand pounds, now yearly paid
Under the term of Dane-gelt, by thy clause
The clergy being exempt. Thou next shalt own
Thy wife Editha as a Queen, and take
The guiltless mourner to thy arms; then curb
The monkish pow'r; vile Canterbury banish;
And we will claim no more.

Edward.
He shall not go!
I will not banish him.—

Goodwin.
Strike up the drum!

Siward.
Stay, noble Goodwin!—be not rash.

Goodwin.
Return
Our hostages, and take your own!

Leofricke.
My Leige,
Why do you pause? The horrors of a war
Are dreadful: join with him, his claims are good;
—He may yet benefit your land.

Edward.
Shall I
Yield to a subject?

Leofricke.
Pow'r so great as his,
May scarcely own subjection.

Canterbury.
Send him hence!
His troops shall scatter, with affrighted thought,
When pure religion o'er the million rears
Her aweful standard. Subjects long inured,
Long check'd by conscience, dare not aid his cause;
My pow'r shall weaken the proud Traytor!

Goodwin
(enraged).
Fly!
Thou vulture, feeding 'mid a nation's woe!
Let me not shed the venom of thy heart
On th'innocent bosom of the earth. My sons,
Here is no hope—we must away.

Tostie.
O shame
On wordy combat!—hence!— (aside tauntingly)
Now, gentle Harold,
May th'untutor'd Tostie fight?

Goodwin.
Farewel,
Unthinking Edward! Ghastly visag'd war
Shall soon o'erwhelm thy land, and teach thee justice.

Edward
(scornfully).
Go, vaunting Saxon! When didst thou subdue
A British King by threats?

Goodwin.
Threats I despise:
Nor would I kindle fury or revenge
Within thy bosom.—Let me then persuade
I am thy subject, love thee as a man;
In gen'ral prize my fellow creature's lives,
And would increase their earthly joys, nor lead
Their minds from truth. Yet when a num'rous throng
Of wretches groan beneath the scourge of craft,
I dare oppose thy rule, and bid them live.

Edward
[Aside.]
Where are my resolutions!

Goodwin.
Own, my son,
The godlike pow'r of blessing; millions trust
To thee, and thy award despotic stands,
Tho' thousands in a long succession fall
From thy dread laws effect: soft peace is thine
And on her lap thy poorest slave may rest.
Plenty is thine; nor should her fruitful store
Be thus divided by a Sovereign's hand
Among the lazy few. Oh, Edward, think
A King is of dire import to the world
When he unjustly, or unwisely acts.

Enter the Pope's Legate, with pomp.
Edward, confused, bows abjectly.
Legate.
Why do the cries of mis'ry break the air,
Sounding most loudly from the lowly cell
Where lank obscurity would freeze the heart?
The laws of England cool the peasant's hearth,
Whilst in the cradle his weak offspring dies!
What may we call thee, Edward? dar'st thou stand
'Gainst pow'r infallible, and shake the charm
Of holy vassalage from thy weak soul?
Know, King, within that charm lies hidden strength.
“How comes it then, his Holiness demands,
“That his most just observances are strain'd
“To general torture?” When he bade thee use
The ordeal fire, he meant not that the heat
Should reach a Queen.

Goodwin.
Beware, most rev'rend Legate.—

Edward.
The oath of Canterbury solv'd my doubt,
Nor did he teach the diff'rence.

Goodwin.
He was right.
Dare Queen's plead a prerogative to sin?
Or Princes give their precedent to break
Statutes they have (howe'er unwisely) form'd?
The ordeal law swells with contagion,—ills,
Minute as particles of poison, grow
To instantaneous magnitude within it:
But if enforced by Edward's sov'reign hand,
Let Queen and Cottager yield to the plague.

Legate.
Be calm, good Earl, my errand is to thee,
And England's King.—Our Bulls have been misused
To sanctify false deeds: deeply profan'd
Are our indulgences and absolutions:
While to this Prelate, ripe in dark misdoing,
We trust the guidance of this pious Monarch.
Therefore his Holiness by me presents,
Unwillingly, this list of many errors
Committed by weak Canterbury.

[Presents a paper.]
King reads.
Edward.
Shame
Await the haughty Monarch who shall turn
From sounds of Truth? Conviction struggles here
And long-establish'd confidence is fled.
O Canterbury! had'st thou ever borne
The weight of empire, thou had'st ne'er aspir'd
Beyond the sweet serenity that dwells
Within the cloyster. Contemplation there
Bears the kind spirit o'er a toiling world,
While from the speculative draught she throws
Benevolence and pity on the wretched.
But me!—thou hast deceiv'd! Me, thou hast led
From pale affliction's plaintive voice! Oh pomp!
What hast thou in exchange for one man's truth?
—How shall I act?—

Goodwin.
Reflect one moment, Edward!
Avow strong virtue thine. Open thine arms,
And take thy honest subjects to thy heart.

Legate.
First take this man that pleads not for himself.

Edward
(embracing Goodwin.)
It must, it shall be so, O father! friend!
Trembling confusion crubs my tongue; yet take
My soul in silent transport! Henceforth prove
The guide of Edward; to thy prudent hand
I trust the wide direction of my realm.

Canterbury
(aside).
My sun of glory rushes from his sphere
Nor takes a slow decline:—why what a gloom
Doth nature in one moment seem to wear!

Goodwin.
Blest hour that seals mine and my country's peace,
Crushing fell discord, e'er her venomn'd sting
Could strike our hardy Britons! Harold, haste
With Tostie, and our party thro' the gates:
Without the town I'll meet you, first this peace
We'll ratify by oath.—For You Arch-Bishop,
No more we'll meet within this sea-girt isle;
Thou art a deep-disease, a growing-evil,
Which must be cut from out the heart o' the King,
Who else might perish with thee.

Canterbury.
Haughty Duke!
Tempt not my vengeance! here I stand the mark
Of laughing-insult: so disgrac'd and fall'n,
That the loud-many hooting as I pass,
Shall cause more pennance to my wounded soul
Than might obtain a heav'n! yet do I scorn
Thy settled malice.

Edward.
Then hear my command:
Which is, that singly thou dost leave this town.
If thou'rt disguis'd thy person may be safe.
This paper holds a list of thy extortions
From the poor peasantry, throughout my realm,
And many clamours from my people rise
Respecting thy misdeeds. If true religion
Be thine, it may support thee:—man's short life
Is but a sojourn, change of place ensues,
And no one spot without its sorrows. Thought
Hangs back upon the past, bringing the shades
Of those lov'd objects we must clasp no more;
Awhile they rend the soul, but lenient-time
Steals gently o'er the ravages they make,
Till ev'ry storm is lull'd to calm content.

Canterbury.
Mistake me not, good King, firm, undismay'd
I leave thy kingdom: Canterbury's soul
Can ne'er, by man, be humbled; distance, time,
Heav'n's promised bliss or threaten'd pangs of hell,
Shall never make me aught but Goodwin's foe.

[Exit Canterbury.
Edward.
What pride supports him!—Leofricke, our troops
May haste unto their sev'ral homes, and taste
Soft comfort lately left: my rev'rend friend,
With this good Earl, his sons and valiant Siward,
Some few hours hence will at our palace meet.

Goodwin.
Harold and Tostie, join our troops; while Girth
Brings on the rearward; near the close of eve
I will attend you.

(Exit all but Harold and Tostie.
(As Harold is following the Party).
Tostie.
Harold!

Harold.
Speak thy wish.—

Tostie.
I wish thee instantly to prove thy right
Of acting proud dictator; checking me,
And jeering my opinion. Were my troops
With vast expence brought hither for thy mirth?
—This suits not Tostie.—

Harold.
Did it suit thee well,
When I but calmly spake, to term me coward?

Tostie.
I nam'd thee justly:—go—bring on our army
To seal a vile inglorious peace: no tongue
But thine, whose soul is chill'd by sudden fear,
Would dare to move upon so vile a subject.

Harold.
Farewel, thou valiant but ferocious Saxon!

Tostie.
Nay stay! tho' Tostie's rage should from his cheek
Throw one deep blush on ocean's gen'ral bosom,
He could not change the colour of thy lip.
Snow-drops look whiter as the welkin rears
Unnotic'd; while the spirits of the air
Imbrown with freezing blast the infant spring.
O thou art cold as winter, pale as light,
And dastardly as woman!

Harold.
Must I act
Beneath humanity, tho' thou art mad?
Tostie, thou art of fierce and cruel nature,
And pleas'd with horror: in thy youthful hours
I've seen thee pluck the feathers of a dove,
While she was rich with life. Ah, Tostie, learn
Barbarity is cowardice!

Tostie
(draws).
Then dare it.

Harold.
Thou art my brother!

Tostie.
No, thy mother wrong'd me.
Thou canst not be the son of noble Goodwin!

Harold
(draws.)
Irrev'rend traytor! Mother stretch thine eye
Down from thy seat of bliss; while, for thy sake,
I do chastise thy wild degen'rate boy.

Tostie.
Perdition seize thee, lazy trifler! Fly!
Or guard thyself.

Harold.
Most willingly to guard
A mother's fame, and Goodwin.

[They fight, Tostie is disarm'd by Harold].
Tostie.
Cursed chance!

Harold.
I will not take thy life, but for thy sword
I'll keep it till thou hast more cause to pierce
A brother's breast.

[Exit Harold.
Tostie.
Rise dæmons of despair!
Ye, who are wont to sting the suff'ring soul!
Chiding fair patience till her heav'nly breath
Cools not the burning agony.—Oh shame,
Surround me with thy bluest sulphur!—Life!
What are thy charms weigh'd now with endless sleep?
I will not hold thee in! Do I not blaze
In hottest infamy? Perish ye ties
Of nature: father! brother! I renounce
All pleas but those of firm and lasting rage.
Tostie shall with an hideous ruin fall!

[Exeunt.