_Enter_ HAROLD, _musing, with his eyes on the ground_.
He sees me not--and yet he dreams of me.
Earl, wilt thou fly my falcons this fair day?
They are of the best, strong-wing'd against the wind.
HAROLD (_looking up suddenly, having caught but the last word_).
_Which_ way does it blow?
WILLIAM. Blowing for England, ha?
Not yet. Thou hast not learnt thy quarters here.
The winds so cross and jostle among these towers.
HAROLD. Count of the Normans, thou hast ransom'd us,
Maintain'd, and entertain'd us royally!
WILLIAM. And thou for us hast fought as loyally,
Which binds us friendship-fast for ever!
HAROLD. Good!
But lest we turn the scale of courtesy
By too much pressure on it, I would fain,
Since thou hast promised Wulfnoth home with us,
Be home again with Wulfnoth.
WILLIAM. Stay--as yet
Thou hast but seen how Norman hands can strike,
But walk'd our Norman field, scarce touch'd or tasted
The splendours of our Court.
HAROLD. I am in no mood:
I should be as the shadow of a cloud
Crossing your light.
WILLIAM. Nay, rest a week or two,
And we will fill thee full of Norman sun,
And send thee back among thine island mists
With laughter.
HAROLD. Count, I thank thee, but had rather
Breathe the free wind from off our Saxon downs,
Tho' charged with all the wet of all the west.
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