No More Learning

WULFNOTH. And for our Mother England?

HAROLD. Deeper still.

WULFNOTH. And deeper still the deep-down oubliette,
Down thirty feet below the smiling day--
In blackness--dogs' food thrown upon thy head.
And over thee the suns arise and set,
And the lark sings, the sweet stars come and go,
And men are at their markets, in their fields,
And woo their loves and have forgotten thee;
And thou art upright in thy living grave,
Where there is barely room to shift thy side,
And all thine England hath forgotten thee;
And he our lazy-pious Norman King,
With all his Normans round him once again,
Counts his old beads, and hath forgotten thee.

HAROLD. Thou art of my blood, and so methinks, my boy,
Thy fears infect me beyond reason. Peace!

WULFNOTH. And then our fiery Tostig, while thy hands
Are palsied here, if his Northumbrians rise
And hurl him from them,--I have heard the Normans
Count upon this confusion--may he not make
A league with William, so to bring him back?

HAROLD. That lies within the shadow of the chance.

WULFNOTH.
And like a river in flood thro' a burst dam
Descends the ruthless Norman--our good King
Kneels mumbling some old bone--our helpless folk
Are wash'd away, wailing, in their own blood--

HAROLD. Wailing! not warring? Boy, thou hast forgotten
That thou art English.

WULFNOTH. Then our modest women--
I know the Norman license--thine own Edith--

HAROLD. No more! I will not hear thee--William comes.

WULFNOTH. I dare not well be seen in talk with thee.
Make thou not mention that I spake with thee.
[_Moves away to the back of the stage_.

_Enter_ WILLIAM, MALET, _and_ OFFICER.

OFFICER. We have the man that rail'd against thy birth.

WILLIAM.