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Stirring her baby-king against me? ha! Eleanor. The brideless Becket is thy

king and mine : I will go live and die in Aquitaine. Henry. Except I clap thee into prison

here, Lest thou shouldst play the wanton there

again. Ha, you of Aquitaine ! O you of Aqui

taine! You were but Aquitaine to Louis — no

wife; You are only Aquitaine to me — no wife, Eleanor. And why, my lord, should I

be wife to one That only wedded me for Aquitaine? Yet this no wife - her six and thirty

sail Of Provence blew you to your English

throne; And this no wife has borne you four brave

sons, And one of them at least is like to prove Bigger in our small world than thou art. Henry.

Ay — Richard, if he be mine — I hope him

mine. But thou art like enough to make him

thine. Eleanor. Becket is like enough to

make all his. Henry. Methought I had recover'd

of the Becket, That all was planed and bevell’d smooth

again, Save from some hateful cantrip of thine Eleanor. I will go live and die in

Aquitaine. I dream'd I was the consort of a king, Not one whose back his priest has broken. Henry.

What! Is the end come? You, will you crown My victor in mid-battle? I will be Sole master of my house. The end is

mine. What game, what juggle, what devilry

are you playing? Why do you thrust this Becket on me

again? Eleanor. Why? for I am true wife,

and have my fears

Lest Becket thrust you even from your

throne. Do you know this cross, my liege? Henry (turning his head). Away!

Not I.
Eleanor. Not ev'n the central dia-

mond, worth, I think,
Half of the Antioch whence I had it?
Henry.

That? Eleanor. I gave it you, and you your

paramour; She sends it back, as being dead to

earth, So dead henceforth to you. Henry. Dead! you have murder'd

her, Found out her secret bower and murder'd

her! Eleanor. Your Becket knew the

secret of your bower. Henry (calling out). Ho there! thy

rest of life is hopeless prison. Eleanor. And what would my own

Aquitaine say to that? First, free thy captive from her hopeless

prison. Henry. O devil, can I free her from

the grave? · Eleanor. You are too tragic: both

of us are players In such a comedy as our court of Pro

vence

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Had laugh'd at. That's a delicate Latin

lay Of Walter Map: the lady holds the

cleric Lovelier than any soldier, his poor

tonsure A crown of Empire. Will you have it

again? (Offering the cross. He dashes it down.) St. Cupid, that is too irreverent. Then mine once more. (Puts it on.)

Your cleric hath your lady. Nay, what uncomely faces, could he see

you ! Foam the mouth because King

Thomas, lord
Not only of your vassals but amours,
Thro'chastest honour of the Decalogue
Hath used the full authority of his

Church
To put her into Godstow nunnery.

my foe

at

You are no King's men- -you-you

you are Becket's inen.
Down with King Henry! up with the

.

Will no man free me from this pestilent Thy pardon — I have still thy leave to

crave

there are men
Of canker'd judgment everywhere

Becket.
With York, with York against me.

Henry. To put her into Godstow

nunnery!
He dared not — liar! yet, yet I remem-

ber
I do remember.
He bade me put her into a nunnery
Into Godstow, into Hellstow, Devilstow!
The Church! the Church !
God's eyes! I would the Church were
down in hell !

[Exit.
Eleanor. Aha!

Enter the four KNIGHTS.
Fitzurse. What made the King cry

out so furiously?
Eleanor Our Becket, who will not

absolve the Bishops.
I think ye four have cause to love this

Becket.
Fitzurse. I hate him for his insolence

to all.
De Tracy. And I for all his insolence

to thee.
De Brito. I hate him for I hate him

is my reason,
And yet I hate him for a hypocrite.
De Morville. I do not love him, for

he did his best
To break the barons, and now braves the

King.
Eleanor. Strike, then, at once, the
King would have him --- See!

Re-enter HENRY.
Henry. No man to love me, honour

me, obey me!
Sluggards and fools !
The slave that eat my bread has kick'd

his King!
The dog I cramm'd with dainties worried

me !
The fellow that on a lame jade came to

court,
A ragged cloak for saddle - he, he, he,
To shake my throne, to push into my

chamber —
My bed, where ev’n the slave is private

- he
I'll have her out again, he shall absolve
The bishops -- they but did my will -

not you
Sluggards and fools, why do you stand

and stare?

The soldier, when he lets his whole self go | Thro' all closed doors a dreadful
Lost in the common good, the common crept

That thou wouldst excommunica
wrong,
Strikes truest ev'n for his own self. I King.

I could not eat, sleep, pray: I had i

The monk's disguise thou gavest speak,

my bower: Thou hast waged God's war against the I think our Abbess knew it and all. King; and yet

I fled, and found thy name a cha We are self-uncertain creatures, and we

get me may,

Food, roof, and rest.

I met a l'ea, even when we know not, mix our

once, spites

I told him I was bound to see the

bishop; Heaven.

* Pass on,' he said, and in thy na Enter EDWARD GRIM.

pass'd

From house to house. In one
Becket. Thou art but yesterday from

stone-blind
Cambridge, Grim;

Sat by his mother's hearth: he had What say ye there of Becket?

too far
Grim.

I believe bin Into the King's own woods; and
The bravest in our roll of Primates down
From Austin — there are some - for

poor mother,
Soon as she learnt I was a frier

thine,

Cried out against the cruelty of Who hold King

I said it was the King's courts, not Grim.

Well, my lord, King;

But she would not believe me, an1

wish'd

The Church were king: she had [Exit Grim.

the Archbishop once, So mild, so kind. The people love t

father. Becket. Alas! when I was CH

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priest?

[The Knights draw their sword.
Eleanor. Are ye king's men? I am

king's woman, 1.
The Knights. King's men! King's

men!
SCENE II. - A ROOM IN CANTERBURT And private hates with our defence of

MONASTERY.
BECKET and JOHN OF SALISBURY.
Becket. York said so?
John of Salisbury. Yes: a man may

take good counsel
Ey'n from his foe.
Becket. York will say anything

.
What is he saying now? gone to the

King
And taken our anathema with him. York!
Can the King de-anathematise this York?
John of Salisbury. Thomas, I would

thou hadst return'd to England,
Like some wise prince of this world from

his wars,
With more of olive-branch and amnesty
For foes at home - thou hast raised the

world against thee.
Becket. Why, John, my kingdom is

not of this world.
John of Salisbury. If it were more of

this world it might be
More of the next.

pardon
Wins here as well as there. To bless

thine enemies -
Becket. Ay, mine, not Heaven's.
John of Salisbury.

not be something
Of this world's leaven in thee too, when

crying
On Holy Church to thunder out her

rights
And thine own wrong so pitilessly? Ah,

Thomas,
The lightnings that we think are only

Heaven's
Flash sometimes out of earth against the

heavens.

A policy of wise

A stranger monk desires access to you.
Becket. York against Canterbury,

York against God!
I am open to him.

Enter ROSAMUND as a Monk.
Rosamund. Can I speak with you
Alone, my father?

cellor to the King,
Becket.

Come you to confess? I fear I was as cruel as the King.
Rosamund. Not now.

Rosamund. Cruel? Oh, no - it
Becket. Then speak; this the law, not he;
is my other self,

The customs of the realm.
Who like my conscience never lets me be.

Becket. The customs! custor Rosamund (throwing back the cowl). I Rosamund. My lord, you have know him; our good John of

excommunicated him?
Salisbury.

Oh, if you have, absolve him!
Becket. Breaking already from thy

Becket.

Daughter. daught noviciate

Deal not with things you know not.
To plunge into this bitter world again -

Rosamund.

I know ho These wells of Marah. I am grieved, Then you have done it, and I call my daughter.

cruel. I thought that I had made a peace for

John of Salisbury. No, daughter, y thee. Rosamund. Small peace was mine in For once in France the King had b

mistake our good Archbishop; my noviciate, father.

so barsh,

And may there

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3 A

The soldier, when he lets his whole self go Lost in the common good, the common

wrong, Strikes truest ev'n for his own self. I

crave

Thy pardon — I have still thy leave to

speak. Thou hast waged God's war against the

King; and yet We are self-uncertain creatures, and we

may, Yea, even when we know not, mix our

spites And private hates with our defence of

Heaven.

Enter EDWARD GRIM.
Becket. Thou art but yesterday from

Cambridge, Grim;
What say ye there of Becket?
Grim.

I believe him The bravest in our roll of Primates down From Austin - there are

some

- for there are men Of canker'd judgment everywhere Becket.

Who hold With York, with York against me. Grim.

Well, my lord, A stranger monk desires access to you. Becket. York against Canterbury,

York against God ! I am open to him.

[Exit Grim.
Enter ROSAMUND as a Monk.
Rosamund. Can I speak with you
Alone, my father?
Becket.

Come you to confess?
Rosamund. Not now.
Becket.

Then speak; this
is my other self,
Who like my conscience never lets me be.
Rosamund (throwing back the cowl). I

know him; our good John of

Salisbury.
Becket. Breaking already from thy

noviciate To plunge into this bitter world again These wells of Marah. I am grieved,

my daughter. I thought that I had made a peace for

thee. Rosamund. Small peace was mine in

my noviciate, father.

Thro' all closed doors a dreadful whisper

crept That thou wouldst excommunicate the

King. I could not eat, sleep, pray: I had with me The monk's disguise thou gavest me for

my bower: I think our Abbess knew it and allow'd it. I fled, and found thy name a charm to

get me Food, roof, and rest. I met a robber

once, I told him I was bound to see the Arch

bishop; • Pass on,' he said, and in thy name I

pass'd From house to house. In one a son

stone-blind Sat by his mother's hearth: he had gone

too far Into the King's own woods; and the

poor mother, Soon as she learnt I was a friend of

thine, Cried out against the cruelty of the

King. I said it was the King's courts, not the

King; But she would not believe me, and she

wish'd The Church were king: she had seen

the Archbishop once, So mild, so kind. The people love thee,

father. Becket. Alas! when I was Chan

cellor to the King, I fear I was as cruel as the King. Rosamund. Cruel? Oh, no- it is

the law, not he; The customs of the realm.

Becket. The customs! customs !
Rosamund. My lord, you have not

excommunicated him? Oh, if you have, absolve him! Becket.

Daughter, daughter, Deal not with things you know not. Rosamund.

I know him. Then you have done it, and I call you

cruel. John of Salisbury. No, daughter, you

mistake our good Archbishop; For once in France the King had been

so harsh,

His child and mine own soul, and so

return. Becket. Pray for me too: much need of prayer have I.

(Rosamund kneels and sen. Dan John, how much we lose, we cel

bates, Lacking the love of woman and of child! John of Salisbury. More gain than

loss; for of your wives you shall Find one a slut whose fairest linen seens Foul as her dust-cloth, if she used it

one

excom

1

He thought to excommunicate him

Thomas, You could not--old affection master'd

you,
You falter'd into tears.

Rosamund. God bless him for it.
Becket. Nay, make me not a woman,

John of Salisbury,
Nor make me traitor to my holy office.
Did not a man's voice ring along the

aisle, The King is sick and almost unto

death'? How could I excommunicate him then? Rosamund. And wilt thou

municate him now? Becket. Daughter, my time is short,

I shall not do it. And were it longer — well — I should not

do it. Rosamund. Thanks in this life, and

in the life to come. Becket. Get thee back to thy nunnery

with all haste; Let this be thy last trespass. But one

question – How fares thy pretty boy, the little

Geoffrey ?
No fever, cough, croup, sickness?
Rosamund.

No, but saved From all that by our solitude. The

plagues That smite the city spare the solitudes. Becket. God save him from all sick

ness of the soul! Thee too, thy solitude among thy nuns, May that save thee! Doth he remember

me?
Rosamund. I warrant him.
Becket. He is marvellously like thee.
Rosamund. Liker the King.
Becket.

No, daughter.
Rosamund.

Ay, but wait Till his nose rises; he will be very

king. Becket. Ev'n so: but think not of

the King: farewell! Rosamund. My lord, the city is full

of armed men.
Becket. Ev'n so: farewell !

Rosamund. I will but pass to vespers, And breathe one prayer for my liege-lord

the King,

So charged with tongue, that every threat

of thought Is broken ere it joins - a shrew to boot, Whose evil song far on into the night Thrills to the topmost tile — no hope but

death; One slow, fat, white, a burthen of the

hearth; And one that being thwarted ever swoors And weeps herself into the place o

power; And one an uxor pauperis Ibyci. So rare the household honeymaking

bee, Man's help! but we, we have the blessed

Virgin For worship, and our Mother Church

for bride; And all the souls we saved and father's

here Will greet us as our babes in Paradise. What noise was that? she told us !

arm'd men Here in the city. Will you not witd.

draw? Becket. I once was out with Henry

in the days When Henry loved me, and we

upon A wild-fowl sitting on her nest, so still I reach'd my hand and touch'd; she did

not stir; The snow had frozen round her, and se

sat Stone-dead upon a heap of ice-cold

eggs. Look! how this love, this mother, rits

thro' all The world God made — even the beast

-- the bird!

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scorn.

John of Salisbury. Ay, still a lover of

the beast and bird? But these arm'd men- – will you not hide

yourself? Perchance the fierce De Brocs from Salt

wood Castle, To assail our Holy Mother lest she

brood Too long o'er this hard egg, the world,

and send Her whole heart's heat into it, till it

break Into young angels. Pray you, hide

yourself. Becket. There was a little fair-hair'd

Norman maid Lived in my mother's house: if Rosa

mund is The world's rose, as her name imports

her -- she Was the world's lily. John of Salisbury. Ay, and what of

her? Becket. She died of leprosy. John of Salisbury. I know not why You call these old things back again, my

lord. Becket. The drowning man, they say,

remembers all The chances of his life, just ere he dies. John of Salisbury. Ay — but these

arm’d men will you drown your

self? He loses half the meed of martyrdom Who will be martyr when he might

escape. Becket. What day of the week?

Tuesday? John of Salisbury. Tuesday, my lord. Becket. On a Tuesday was I born,

and on a Tuesday Baptized; and on a Tuesday did I Ay Forth from Northampton; on a Tuesday

pass'd From England into bitter banishment; On a Tuesday at Pontigny came to

Fitzurse. My lord, we bring a message

from the King Beyond the water; will you have it

alone,
Or with these listeners near you?
Becket,

As you will.
Fitzurse. Nay, as you will.
Becket.

Nay, as you will.
John of Salisbury.

Why then Better perhaps to speak with them apart. Let us withdraw.

[All go out except the four Knights

and Becket. Filzurse. We are all alone with him. Shall I not smite him with his own cross

staff? De Morville. No, look! the door is

open: let him be. Fitzurse. The King condemns your

excommunicating Becket. This is no secret, but a public

matter. In here again! [John of Salisbury and Monks return.

Now, sirs, the King's commands ! Fitzurse. The King beyond the water,

thro' our voices, Commands you to be dutiful and leal To your young King on this side of the

water, Not scorn him for the foibles of his youth. What! you would make his coronation

void By cursing those who crown'd him! Out

upon you! Becket. Reginald, all men know I

loved the Prince. His father gave him to my care, and I Became his second father: he had his

faults, For which I would have laid mine own

life down To help him from them, since indeed I

loved him, And love him next after my lord his father.

me

The ghostly warning of my martyrdom; On a Tuesday from mine exile I return’d, And on a Tuesday

[ Tracy enters, then Fitzurse, De

Brito, and De Morville. Monks following:

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