HAROLD. They shout as they would have her for a queen. MORCAR. She hath followed with our host, and suffer'd all. HAROLD. What would ye, men? VOICE. Our old Northumbrian crown, And kings of our own choosing. HAROLD. Your old crown Were little help without our Saxon carles Against Hardrada. VOICE. Little! we are Danes, Who conquer'd what we walk on, our own field. The kingdoms of this world began with little, Or fort, or city, took it, and the first Fell, and the next became an Empire. VOICE. Yet Thou art but a West Saxon: we are Danes! HAROLD. My mother is a Dane, and I am English; There is a pleasant fable in old books, Ye take a stick, and break it; bind a score VOICE. That is true! VOICE. Ay, but thou art not kingly, only grandson HAROLD. This old Wulfnoth Would take me on his knees and tell me tales Of Alfred and of Athelstan the Great Who drove you Danes; and yet he held that Dane, Jute, Angle, Saxon, were or should be all One England, for this cow-herd, like my father, Who shook the Norman scoundrels off the throne, Not made but born, like the great king of all, VOICE. That is true! VOICE. Ay, and I love him now, for mine own father Was great, and cobbled. VOICE. Thou art Tostig's brother, Who wastes the land. HAROLD. This brother comes to save Your land from waste; I saved it once before, For when your people banish'd Tostig hence, |