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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.

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The kingdoms of this world began with little,
A hill, a fort, a city-that reach'd a hand
Down to the field beneath it, "Be thou mine,"
Then to the next, "Thou also!" If the field
Cried out "I am mine own;" another hill

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
All in one faggot, snap it over knee,

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VOICE.

That is true!

VOICE.

Ay, but thou art not kingly, only grandson
To Wulfnoth a poor cow-herd.

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,
Had in him kingly thoughts-a king of men,

Not made but born, like the great king of all,
A light among the oxen.

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,
And Edward would have sent a host against you,
Then I, who loved my brother, bad the king
Who doted on him, sanction your decree
Of Tostig's banishment, and choice of Morcar.
To help the realm from scattering.

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