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.
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