No More Learning

Thy life at home
Is easier than mine here. Look! am I not
Work-wan, flesh-fallen?

GAMEL. Art thou sick, good Earl?

HAROLD. Sick as an autumn swallow for a voyage,
Sick for an idle week of hawk and hound
Beyond the seas--a change! When camest thou hither?

GAMEL. To-day, good Earl.

HAROLD. Is the North quiet, Gamel?

GAMEL. Nay, there be murmurs, for thy brother breaks us
With over-taxing--quiet, ay, as yet--
Nothing as yet.

HAROLD.
Stand by him, mine old friend,
Thou art a great voice in Northumberland!
Advise him: speak him sweetly, he will hear thee.
He is passionate but honest. Stand thou by him!
More talk of this to-morrow, if yon weird sign
Not blast us in our dreams. --Well, father Stigand--
[_To_ STIGAND, _who advances to him_.

STIGAND (_pointing to the comet_).
War there, my son? is that the doom of England?

HAROLD. Why not the doom of all the world as well?
For all the world sees it as well as England.
These meteors came and went before our day,
Not harming any: it threatens us no more
Than French or Norman. War? the worst that follows
Things that seem jerk'd out of the common rut
Of Nature is the hot religious fool,
Who, seeing war in heaven, for heaven's credit
Makes it on earth: but look, where Edward draws
A faint foot hither, leaning upon Tostig.
He hath learnt to love our Tostig much of late.