FISHERMAN. I thank thee, Rolf. Run thou to Count Guy; he is hard at hand. Tell him what hath crept into our creel, and he will fee thee as freely as he will wrench this outlander's ransom out of him--and why not? for what right had he to get himself wrecked on another man's land? ROLF. Thou art the human-heartedest, Christian-charitiest of all crab-catchers. Share and share alike! [_Exit_. HAROLD (_to_ FISHERMAN). Fellow, dost thou catch crabs? FISHERMAN. As few as I may in a wind, and less than I would in a calm. Ay! HAROLD. I have a mind that thou shalt catch no more. FISHERMAN. How? HAROLD. I have a mind to brain thee with mine axe. FISHERMAN. Ay, do, do, and our great Count-crab will make his nippers meet in thine heart; he'll sweat it out of thee, he'll sweat it out of thee. Look, he's here! He'll speak for himself! Hold thine own, if thou canst! _Enter_ GUY, COUNT OF PONTHIEU. HAROLD. Guy, Count of Ponthieu? GUY. Harold, Earl of Wessex! HAROLD. Thy villains with their lying lights have wreck'd us! GUY. Art thou not Earl of Wessex? HAROLD. In mine earldom A man may hang gold bracelets on a bush, And leave them for a year, and coming back Find them again. GUY. Thou art a mighty man In thine own earldom! HAROLD. Were such murderous liars In Wessex--if I caught them, they should hang Cliff-gibbeted for sea-marks; our sea-mew Winging their only wail! GUY. Ay, but my men Hold that the shipwreckt are accursed of God;-- What hinders me to hold with mine own men? HAROLD. The Christian manhood of the man who reigns! GUY. Ay, rave thy worst, but in our oubliettes Thou shalt or rot or ransom. Hale him hence! [_To one of his_ ATTENDANTS. Fly thou to William; tell him we have Harold. SCENE II.--BAYEUX. PALACE. COUNT WILLIAM _and_ WILLIAM MALET. WILLIAM. We hold our Saxon woodcock in the springe, But he begins to flutter. As I think He was thine host in England when I went To visit Edward. MALET. Yea, and there, my lord, To make allowance for their rougher fashions, I found him all a noble host should be. WILLIAM. Thou art his friend: thou know'st my claim on England Thro' Edward's promise: we have him in the toils. And it were well, if thou shouldst let him feel, How dense a fold of danger nets him round, So that he bristle himself against my will. MALET. What would I do, my lord, if I were you? WILLIAM. What wouldst thou do? MALET. My lord, he is thy guest.