MALET. Thou canst not, Harold; Our Duke is all between thee and the sea, Our Duke is all about thee like a God; All passes block'd. Obey him, speak him fair, For he is only debonair to those That follow where he leads, but stark as death To those that cross him.--Look thou, here is Wulfnoth! I leave thee to thy talk with him alone; How wan, poor lad! how sick and sad for home! [_Exit_ MALET. HAROLD (_muttering_). Go not to Normandy--go not to Normandy! _Enter_ WULFNOTH. Poor brother! still a hostage! WULFNOTH. Yea, and I Shall see the dewy kiss of dawn no more Make blush the maiden-white of our tall cliffs, Nor mark the sea-bird rouse himself and hover Above the windy ripple, and fill the sky With free sea-laughter--never--save indeed Thou canst make yield this iron-mooded Duke To let me go. HAROLD. Why, brother, so he will; But on conditions. Canst thou guess at them? WULFNOTH. Draw nearer,--I was in the corridor, I saw him coming with his brother Odo The Bayeux bishop, and I hid myself. HAROLD. They did thee wrong who made thee hostage; thou Wast ever fearful. WULFNOTH. And he spoke--I heard him-- 'This Harold is not of the royal blood, Can have no right to the crown,' and Odo said, 'Thine is the right, for thine the might; he is here, And yonder is thy keep.' HAROLD. No, Wulfnoth, no. WULFNOTH. And William laugh'd and swore that might was right, Far as he knew in this poor world of ours-- 'Marry, the Saints must go 'along with us, And, brother, we will find a way,' said he-- Yea, yea, he would be king of England. HAROLD. Never! WULFNOTH. Yea, but thou must not this way answer _him_. HAROLD. Is it not better still to speak the truth? WULFNOTH. Not here, or thou wilt never hence nor I: For in the racing toward this golden goal He turns not right or left, but tramples flat Whatever thwarts him; hast thou never heard His savagery at Alencon,--the town Hung out raw hides along their walls, and cried 'Work for the tanner.' HAROLD. That had anger'd _me_ Had I been William. WULFNOTH. Nay, but he had prisoners, He tore their eyes out, sliced their hands away, And flung them streaming o'er the battlements Upon the heads of those who walk'd within-- O speak him fair, Harold, for thine own sake. HAROLD. Your Welshman says, 'The Truth against the World,' Much more the truth against myself. WULFNOTH. Thyself? But for my sake, oh brother! oh! for my sake! HAROLD. Poor Wulfnoth! do they not entreat thee well? WULFNOTH. I see the blackness of my dungeon loom Across their lamps of revel, and beyond The merriest murmurs of their banquet clank The shackles that will bind me to the wall. HAROLD. Too fearful still!