SCENE III.—The Hall in Northampton Castle.On one side of the stage the doors of an inner Council-chamber,half-open. At the bottom, the great doors of the Hall. ROGERARCHBISHOP OF YORK, FOLIOT BISHOP OF LONDON, HILARY OF CHICHESTER,BISHOP OF HEREFORD, RICHARD DE HASTINGS (Grand Prior of Templars),PHILIP DE ELEEMOSYNA (the Pope's Almoner),and others. DE BROC,FITZURSE, DE BRITO, DE MORVILLE, DE TRACY,and otherBARONSassembled—a table before them. JOHN OF OXFORD,President of theCouncil.
EnterBECKETandHERBERT OF BOSHAM.BECKET.Where is the King?ROGER OF YORK.Gone hawking on the Nene,His heart so gall'd with thine ingratitude,He will not see thy face till thou hast sign'dThese ancient laws and customs of the realm.Thy sending back the Great Seal madden'd him,He all but pluck'd the bearer's eyes away.Take heed, lest he destroy thee utterly.BECKET.Then shalt thou step into my place and sign.ROGER OF YORK.Didst thou not promise Henry to obeyThese ancient laws and customs of the realm?BECKET.Saving the honour of my order—ay.Customs, traditions,—clouds that come and go;The customs of the Church are Peter's rock.ROGER OF YORK.Saving thine order! But King Henry swareThat, saving his King's kingship, he would grant theeThe crown itself. Saving thine order, Thomas,Is black and white at once, and comes to nought.O bolster'd up with stubbornness and pride,Wilt thou destroy the Church in fighting for it,And bring us all to shame?BECKET.Roger of York,When I and thou were youths in Theobald's house,Twice did thy malice and thy calumniesExile me from the face of Theobald.Now I am Canterbury and thou art York.ROGER OF YORK.And is not York the peer of Canterbury?Did not Great Gregory bid St. Austin hereFound two archbishopricks, London and York?BECKET.What came of that? The first archbishop fled,And York lay barren for a hundred years.Why, by this rule, Foliot may claim the pallFor London too.FOLIOT.And with good reason too,For London had a temple and a priestWhen Canterbury hardly bore a name.BECKET.The pagan temple of a pagan Rome!The heathen priesthood of a heathen creed!Thou goest beyond thyself in petulancy!Who made thee London? Who, but Canterbury?JOHN OF OXFORD.Peace, peace, my lords! these customs are no longerAs Canterbury calls them, wandering clouds,But by the King's command are written down,And by the King's command I, John of Oxford,The President of this Council, read them.BECKET.Read!JOHN OF OXFORD (reads).'All causes of advowsons and presentations, whether between laymen orclerics, shall be tried in the King's court.'BECKET.But that I cannot sign: for that would dragThe cleric before the civil judgment-seat,And on a matter wholly spiritual.JOHN OF OXFORD.'If any cleric be accused of felony, the Church shall not protect him:but he shall answer to the summons of the King's court to be triedtherein.'BECKET.And that I cannot sign.Is not the Church the visible Lord on earth?Shall hands that do create the Lord be boundBehind the back like laymen-criminals?The Lord be judged again by Pilate? No!JOHN OF OXFORD.'When a bishoprick falls vacant, the King, till another be appointed,shall receive the revenues thereof.'BECKET.And that I cannot sign. Is the King's treasuryA fit place for the monies of the Church,That be the patrimony of the poor?JOHN OF OXFORD.'And when the vacancy is to be filled up, the King shall summon thechapter of that church to court, and the election shall be made in theChapel Royal, with the consent of our lord the King, and by the adviceof his Government.'BECKET.And that I cannot sign: for that would makeOur island-Church a schism from Christendom,And weight down all free choice beneath the throne.FOLIOT.And was thine own election so canonical,Good father?BECKET.If it were not, Gilbert Foliot,I mean to cross the sea to France, and layMy crozier in the Holy Father's hands,And bid him re-create me, Gilbert Foliot.FOLIOT.Nay; by another of these customs thouWilt not be suffer'd so to cross the seasWithout the license of our lord the King.BECKET.That, too, I cannot sign.DE BROC, DE BRITO, DE TRACY, FITZURSE, DEMORVILLE,start up—a clash of swords.Sign and obey!BECKET.My lords, is this a combat or a council?Are ye my masters, or my lord the King?Ye make this clashing for no love o' the customsOr constitutions, or whate'er ye call them,But that there be among you those that holdLands reft from Canterbury.DE BROC.And mean to keep them,In spite of thee!LORDS (shouting).Sign, and obey the crown!BECKET.The crown? Shall I do less for CanterburyThan Henry for the crown? King Stephen gaveMany of the crown lands to those that helpt him;So did Matilda, the King's mother. Mark,When Henry came into his own again,Then he took back not only Stephen's gifts,But his own mother's, lest the crown should beShorn of ancestral splendour. This did Henry.Shall I do less for mine own Canterbury?And thou, De Broc, that holdest Saltwood Castle—DE BROC.And mean to hold it, or—BECKET.To have my life.DE BROC.The King is quick to anger; if thou anger him,We wait but the King's word to strike thee dead.BECKET.Strike, and I die the death of martyrdom;Strike, and ye set these customs by my deathRinging their own death-knell thro' all the realm.HERBERT.And I can tell you, lords, ye are all as likeTo lodge a fear in Thomas Becket's heartAs find a hare's form in a lion's cave.JOHN OF OXFORD.Ay, sheathe your swords, ye will displease the King.DE BROC.Why down then thou! but an he come to Saltwood,By God's death, thou shalt stick him like a calf![Sheathing his sword.HILARY.O my good lord, I do entreat thee—sign.Save the King's honour here before his barons.He hath sworn that thou shouldst sign, and now but shunsThe semblance of defeat; I have heard him sayHe means no more; so if thou sign, my lord,That were but as the shadow of an assent.BECKET.'Twould seem too like the substance, if I sign'd.PHILIP DE ELEEMOSYNA.My lord, thine ear! I have the ear of the Pope.As thou hast honour for the Pope our master,Have pity on him, sorely prest uponBy the fierce Emperor and his Antipope.Thou knowest he was forced to fly to France;He pray'd me to pray thee to pacifyThy King; for if thou go against thy King,Then must he likewise go against thy King,And then thy King might join the Antipope,And that would shake the Papacy as it stands.Besides, thy King swore to our cardinalsHe meant no harm nor damage to the Church.Smoothe thou his pride—thy signing is but form;Nay, and should harm come of it, it is the PopeWill be to blame—not thou. Over and overHe told me thou shouldst pacify the King,Lest there be battle between Heaven and Earth,And Earth should get the better—for the time.Cannot the Pope absolve thee if thou sign?BECKET.Have I the orders of the Holy Father?PHILIP DE ELEEMOSYNA.Orders, my lord—why, no; for what am I?The secret whisper of the Holy Father.Thou, that hast been a statesman, couldst thou alwaysBlurt thy free mind to the air?BECKET.If Rome be feeble, then should I be firm.PHILIP.Take it not that way—balk not the Pope's will.When he hath shaken off the Emperor,He heads the Church against the King with thee.RICHARD DE HASTINGS (kneeling).Becket, I am the oldest of the Templars;I knew thy father; he would be mine ageHad he lived now; think of me as thy father!Behold thy father kneeling to thee, Becket.Submit; I promise thee on my salvationThat thou wilt hear no more o' the customs.BECKET.What!Hath Henry told thee? hast thou talk'd with him?AnotherTEMPLAR (kneeling).Father, I am the youngest of the Templars,Look on me as I were thy bodily son,For, like a son, I lift my hands to thee.PHILIP.Wilt thou hold out for ever, Thomas Becket?Dost thou not hear?BECKET (signs).Why—there then—there—I sign,And swear to obey the customs.FOLIOT.Is it thy will,My lord Archbishop, that we too should sign?BECKET.O ay, by that canonical obedienceThou still hast owed thy father, Gilbert Foliot.FOLIOT.Loyally and with good faith, my lord Archbishop?BECKET.O ay, with all that loyalty and good faithThou still hast shown thy primate, Gilbert Foliot.[BECKETdraws apart withHERBERT.Herbert, Herbert, have I betray'd the Church?I'll have the paper back—blot out my name.HERBERT.Too late, my lord: you see they are signing there.BECKET.False to myself—it is the will of GodTo break me, prove me nothing of myself!This Almoner hath tasted Henry's gold.The cardinals have finger'd Henry's gold.And Rome is venal ev'n to rottenness.I see it, I see it.I am no soldier, as he said—at leastNo leader. Herbert, till I hear from the PopeI will suspend myself from all my functions.If fast and prayer, the lacerating scourge—FOLIOT (from the table).My lord Archbishop, thou hast yet to seal.BECKET.First, Foliot, let me see what I have sign'd.[Goes to the table.What, this! and this!—what! new and old together!Seal? If a seraph shouted from the sun,And bad me seal against the rights of the Church,I would anathematise him. I will not seal.[Exit withHERBERT.EnterKING HENRY.HENRY.Where's Thomas? hath he sign'd? show me the papers!Sign'd and not seal'd! How's that?JOHN OF OXFORD.He would not seal.And when he sign'd, his face was stormy-red—Shame, wrath, I know not what. He sat down thereAnd dropt it in his hands, and then a paleness,Like the wan twilight after sunset, creptUp even to the tonsure, and he groan'd,'False to myself! It is the will of God!'HENRY.God's will be what it will, the man shall seal,Or I will seal his doom. My burgher's son—Nay, if I cannot break him as the prelate,I'll crush him as the subject. Send for him back.[Sits on his throne.Barons and bishops of our realm of England,After the nineteen winters of King Stephen—A reign which was no reign, when none could sitBy his own hearth in peace; when murder commonAs nature's death, like Egypt's plague, had fill'dAll things with blood; when every doorway blush'd,Dash'd red with that unhallow'd passover;When every baron ground his blade in blood;The household dough was kneaded up with blood;The millwheel turn'd in blood; the wholesome plowLay rusting in the furrow's yellow weeds,Till famine dwarft the race—I came, your King!Nor dwelt alone, like a soft lord of the East,In mine own hall, and sucking thro' fools' earsThe flatteries of corruption—went abroadThro' all my counties, spied my people's ways;Yea, heard the churl against the baron—yea,And did him justice; sat in mine own courtsJudging my judges, that had found a KingWho ranged confusions, made the twilight day,And struck a shape from out the vague, and lawFrom madness. And the event—our fallows till'd,Much corn, repeopled towns, a realm again.So far my course, albeit not glassy-smooth,Had prosper'd in the main, but suddenlyJarr'd on this rock. A cleric violatedThe daughter of his host, and murder'd him.Bishops—York, London, Chichester, Westminster—Ye haled this tonsured devil into your courts;But since your canon will not let you takeLife for a life, ye but degraded himWhere I had hang'd him. What doth hard murder careFor degradation? and that made me muse,Being bounden by my coronation oathTo do men justice. Look to it, your own selves!Say that a cleric murder'd an archbishop,What could ye do? Degrade, imprison him—Not death for death.JOHN OF OXFORD.But I, my liege, could swear,To death for death.HENRY.And, looking thro' my reign,I found a hundred ghastly murders doneBy men, the scum and offal of the Church;Then, glancing thro' the story of this realm,I came on certain wholesome usages,Lost in desuetude, of my grandsire's day,Good royal customs—had them written fairFor John of Oxford here to read to you.JOHN OF OXFORD.And I can easily swear to these as beingThe King's will and God's will and justice; yetI could but read a part to-day, because——FITZURSE.Because my lord of Canterbury——DE TRACY.Ay,This lord of Canterbury——DE BRITO.As is his wontToo much of late whene'er your royal rightsAre mooted in our councils——FITZURSE.—made an uproar.HENRY.And Becket had my bosom on all this;If ever man by bonds of gratefulness—I raised him from the puddle of the gutter,I made him porcelain from the clay of the city—Thought that I knew him, err'd thro' love of him,Hoped, were he chosen archbishop, Church and Crown,Two sisters gliding in an equal dance,Two rivers gently flowing side by side—But no!The bird that moults sings the same song again,The snake that sloughs comes out a snake again.Snake—ay, but he that lookt a fangless one,Issues a venomous adder.For he, when having dofft the Chancellor's robe—Flung the Great Seal of England in my face—Claim'd some of our crown lands for Canterbury—My comrade, boon companion, my co-reveller,The master of his master, the King's king.—God's eyes! I had meant to make him all but king.Chancellor-Archbishop, he might well have sway'dAll England under Henry, the young King,When I was hence. What did the traitor say?False to himself, but ten-fold false to me!The will of God—why, then it is my will—Is he coming?MESSENGER (entering).With a crowd of worshippers,And holds his cross before him thro' the crowd,As one that puts himself in sanctuary.HENRY.His cross!ROGER OF YORK.His cross! I'll front him, cross to cross.[ExitROGER OF YORK.HENRY.His cross! it is the traitor that imputesTreachery to his King!It is not safe for me to look upon him.Away—with me![Goes in with hisBARONSto the Council Chamber,the door of which is left open.EnterBECKET,holding his cross of silver before him.TheBISHOPScome round him.HEREFORD.The King will not abide thee with thy cross.Permit me, my good lord, to bear it for thee,Being thy chaplain.BECKET.No: it must protect me.HERBERT.As once he bore the standard of the Angles,So now he bears the standard of the angels.FOLIOT.I am the Dean of the province: let me bear it.Make not thy King a traitorous murderer.BECKET.Did not your barons draw their swords against me?EnterROGER OF YORK,with his cross,advancing toBECKET.BECKET.Wherefore dost thou presume to bear thy cross,Against the solemn ordinance from Rome,Out of thy province?ROGER OF YORK.Why dost thou presume,Arm'd with thy cross, to come before the King?If Canterbury bring his cross to court,Let York bear his to mate with Canterbury.FOLIOT (seizing hold ofBECKET'Scross).Nay, nay, my lord, thou must not brave the King.Nay, let me have it. I will have it!BECKET.Away![Flinging him off.FOLIOT.Hefasts, they say, this mitred Hercules!Hefast! is that an arm of fast? My lord,Hadst thou not sign'd, I had gone along with thee;But thou the shepherd hast betray'd the sheep,And thou art perjured, and thou wilt not seal.As Chancellor thou wast against the Church,Now as Archbishop goest against the King;For, like a fool, thou knowst no middle way.Ay, ay! but art thou stronger than the King?BECKET.Strong—not in mine own self, but Heaven; trueTo either function, holding it; and thouFast, scourge thyself, and mortify thy flesh,Not spirit—thou remainest Gilbert Foliot,A worldly follower of the worldly strong.I, bearing this great ensign, make it clearUnder what Prince I fight.FOLIOT.My lord of York,Let us go in to the Council, where our bishopsAnd our great lords will sit in judgment on him.BECKET.Sons sit in judgment on their father!—thenThe spire of Holy Church may prick the graves—Her crypt among the stars. Sign? seal? I promisedThe King to obey these customs, not yet written,Saving mine order; true too, that when writtenI sign'd them—being a fool, as Foliot call'd me.I hold not by my signing. Get ye hence,Tell what I say to the King.[ExeuntHEREFORD, FOLIOT,and otherBISHOPS.ROGER OF YORK.The Church will hate thee.[Exit.BECKET.Serve my best friend and make him my worst foe;Fight for the Church, and set the Church against me!HERBERT.To be honest is to set all knaves against thee.Ah! Thomas, excommunicate them all!HEREFORD (re-entering).I cannot brook the turmoil thou hast raised.I would, my lord Thomas of Canterbury,Thou wert plain Thomas and not Canterbury,Or that thou wouldst deliver CanterburyTo our King's hands again, and be at peace.HILARY (re-entering).For hath not thine ambition set the ChurchThis day between the hammer and the anvil—Fealty to the King, obedience to thyself?HERBERT.What say the bishops?HILARY.Some have pleaded for him,But the King rages—most are with the King;And some are reeds, that one time sway to the current,And to the wind another. But we holdThou art forsworn; and no forsworn ArchbishopShall helm the Church. We therefore place ourselvesUnder the shield and safeguard of the Pope,And cite thee to appear before the Pope,And answer thine accusers.... Art thou deaf?BECKET.I hear you. [Clash of arms.HILARY.Dost thou hear those others?BECKET.Ay!ROGER OF YORK (re-entering).The King's 'God's eyes!' come now so thick and fast,We fear that he may reave thee of thine own.Come on, come on! it is not fit for usTo see the proud Archbishop mutilated.Say that he blind thee and tear out thy tongue.BECKET.So be it. He begins at top with me:They crucified St. Peter downward.ROGER OF YORK.Nay,But for their sake who stagger betwixt thineAppeal, and Henry's anger, yield.BECKET.Hence, Satan![ExitROGER OF YORK.FITZURSE (re-entering),My lord, the King demands three hundred marks,Due from his castles of Berkhamstead and EyeWhen thou thereof wast warden.BECKET.Tell the KingI spent thrice that in fortifying his castles.DE TRACY (re-entering.)My lord, the King demands seven hundred marks,Lent at the siege of Thoulouse by the King.BECKET.I led seven hundred knights and fought his wars.DE BRITO (re-entering).My lord, the King demands five hundred marks,Advanced thee at his instance by the Jews,For which the King was bound security.BECKET.I thought it was a gift; I thought it was a gift.Enter LordLEICESTER (followed byBARONSandBISHOPS).My lord, I come unwillingly. The KingDemands a strict account of all those revenuesFrom all the vacant sees and abbacies,Which came into thy hands when Chancellor.BECKET.How much might that amount to, my lord Leicester?LEICESTER.Some thirty—forty thousand silver marks.BECKET.Are these your customs? O my good lord Leicester,The King and I were brothers. All I hadI lavish'd for the glory of the King;I shone from him, for him, his glory, hisReflection: now the glory of the ChurchHath swallow'd up the glory of the King;I am his no more, but hers. Grant me one dayTo ponder these demands.LEICESTER.Hear first thy sentence!The King and all his lords—BECKET.Son, first hearme!LEICESTER.Nay, nay, canst thou, that holdest thine estatesIn fee and barony of the King, declineThe judgment of the King?BECKET.The King! I holdNothing in fee and barony of the King.Whatever the Church owns—she holds it inFree and perpetual alms, unsubject toOne earthly sceptre.LEICESTER.Nay, but hear thy judgment.The King and all his barons—BECKET.Judgment! Barons!Who but the bridegroom dares to judge the bride,Or he the bridegroom may appoint? Not heThat is not of the house, but from the streetStain'd with the mire thereof.I had been so trueTo Henry and mine office that the KingWould throne me in the great Archbishoprick:And I, that knew mine own infirmity,For the King's pleasure rather than God's causeTook it upon me—err'd thro' love of him.Now therefore God from me withdraws Himself,And the King too.What! forty thousand marks!Why thou, the King, the Pope, the Saints, the world,Know that when made Archbishop I was freed,Before the Prince and chief Justiciary,From every bond and debt and obligationIncurr'd as Chancellor.Hear me, son.As goldOutvalues dross, light darkness, Abel Cain,The soul the body, and the Church the Throne,I charge thee, upon pain of mine anathema,That thou obey, not me, but God in me,Rather than Henry. I refuse to standBy the King's censure, make my cry to the Pope,By whom I will be judged; refer myself,The King, these customs, all the Church, to him,And under his authority—I depart. [Going.[LEICESTERlooks at him doubtingly.Am I a prisoner?LEICESTER.By St. Lazarus, no!I am confounded by thee. Go in peace.DE BROC.In peace now—but after. Take that for earnest.[Flings a bone at him from the rushes.DE BRITO, FITZURSE, DE TRACY,and others (flinging wisps of rushes).Ay, go in peace, caitiff, caitiff! And that too, perjured prelate—andthat, turncoat shaveling! There, there, there! traitor, traitor,traitor!BECKET.Mannerless wolves! [Turning and facing them.HERBERT.Enough, my lord, enough!BECKET.Barons of England and of Normandy,When what ye shake at doth but seem to fly,True test of coward, ye follow with a yell.But I that threw the mightiest knight of France,Sir Engelram de Trie,—HERBERT.Enough, my lord.BECKET.More than enough. I play the fool again.EnterHERALD.HERALD.The King commands you, upon pain of death,That none should wrong or injure your Archbishop.FOLIOT.Deal gently with the young man Absalom.[Great doors of the Hall at the back open, anddiscover a crowd. They shout:Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord!
SCENE IV.—Refectory of the Monastery at Northampton.A Banquet on the Tables.
EnterBECKET. BECKET'S RETAINERS.1ST RETAINER.Do thou speak first.2ND RETAINER.Nay, thou! Nay, thou! Hast not thou drawn the short straw?1ST RETAINER.My lord Archbishop, wilt thou permit us—BECKET.To speak without stammering and like a free man?Ay.1ST RETAINER.My lord, permit us then to leave thy service.BECKET.When?1ST RETAINER.Now.BECKET.To-night?1ST RETAINER.To-night, my lord.BECKET.And why?1ST RETAINER.My lord, we leave thee not without tears.BECKET.Tears? Why not stay with me then?1ST RETAINER.My lord, we cannot yield thee an answer altogether to thysatisfaction.BECKET.I warrant you, or your own either. Shall I findyou one? The King hath frowned upon me.1ST RETAINER.That is not altogether our answer, my lord.BECKET.No; yet all but all. Go, go! Ye have eaten of my dish and drunken ofmy cup for a dozen years.1ST RETAINER.And so we have. We mean thee no wrong. Wilt thou not say, 'God blessyou,' ere we go?BECKET.God bless you all! God redden your pale blood! But mine is human-red;and when ye shall hear it is poured out upon earth, and see itmounting to Heaven, my God bless you, that seems sweet to you now,will blast and blind you like a curse.1ST RETAINER.We hope not, my lord. Our humblest thanks foryour blessing. Farewell![ExeuntRETAINERS.BECKET.Farewell, friends! farewell, swallows! I wrong the bird; she leavesonly the nest she built, they leave the builder. Why? Am I to bemurdered to-night?[Knocking at the door.ATTENDANT.Here is a missive left at the gate by one from the castle.BECKET.Cornwall's hand or Leicester's: they write marvellously alike.[Reading.'Fly at once to France, to King Louis of France: there be those aboutour King who would have thy blood.' Was not my lord of Leicesterbidden to our supper?ATTENDANT.Ay, my lord, and divers other earls and barons. But the hour is past,and our brother, Master Cook, he makes moan that all be a-gettingcold.BECKET.And I make my moan along with him. Cold after warm, winter aftersummer, and the golden leaves, these earls and barons, that clung tome, frosted off me by the first cold frown of the King. Cold, but lookhow the table steams, like a heathen altar; nay, like the altar atJerusalem. Shall God's good gifts be wasted? None of them here! Callin the poor from the streets, and let them feast.HERBERT.That is the parable of our blessed Lord.BECKET.And why should not the parable of our blessed Lord be acted again?Call in the poor! The Church is ever at variance with the kings, andever at one with the poor. I marked a group of lazars in themarketplace—half-rag, half-sore—beggars, poor rogues (Heaven bless'em) who never saw nor dreamed of such a banquet. I will amaze them.Call them in, I say. They shall henceforward be my earls and barons—our lords and masters in Christ Jesus.[ExitHERBERT.If the King hold his purpose, I am myself a beggar. Forty thousandmarks! forty thousand devils—and these craven bishops!APOOR MAN(entering) with his dog.My lord Archbishop, may I come in with my poor friend, my dog? TheKing's verdurer caught him a-hunting in the forest, and cut off hispaws. The dog followed his calling, my lord. I ha' carried him ever somany miles in my arms, and he licks my face and moans and cries outagainst the King.BECKET.Better thy dog than thee. The King's courts would use thee worse thanthy dog—they are too bloody. Were the Church king, it would beotherwise. Poor beast! poor beast! set him down. I will bind up hiswounds with my napkin. Give him a bone, give him a bone! Who misuses adog would misuse a child—they cannot speak for themselves. Past help!his paws are past help. God help him!Enter theBEGGARS(and seat themselves at the Tables).BECKETandHERBERTwait upon them.1ST BEGGAR.Swine, sheep, ox—here's a French supper. When thieves fall out,honest men——2ND BEGGAR.Is the Archbishop a thief who gives thee thy supper?1ST BEGGAR.Well, then, how does it go? When honest men fall out, thieves—no, itcan't be that.2ND BEGGAR.Who stole the widow's one sitting hen o' Sunday, when she was at mass?1ST BEGGAR.Come, come! thou hadst thy share on her. Sitting hen! Our LordBecket's our great sitting-hen cock, and we shouldn't ha' been sittinghere if the barons and bishops hadn't been a-sitting on theArchbishop.BECKET.Ay, the princes sat in judgment against me, and the Lord hath preparedyour table—Sederunt principes, ederunt pauperes.A Voice.Becket, beware of the knife!BECKET.Who spoke?3RD BEGGAR.Nobody, my lord. What's that, my lord?BECKET.Venison.3RD BEGGAR.Venison?BECKET.Buck; deer, as you call it.3RD BEGGAR.King's meat! By the Lord, won't we pray for your lordship!BECKET.And, my children, your prayers will do more for me in the day of perilthat dawns darkly and drearily over the house of God—yea, and in theday of judgment also, than the swords of the craven sycophants wouldhave done had they remained true to me whose bread they have partaken.I must leave you to your banquet. Feed, feast, and be merry. Herbert,for the sake of the Church itself, if not for my own, I must fly toFrance to-night. Come with me.[Exit withHERBERT.3RD BEGGAR.Here—all of you—my lord's health (they drink). Well—if that isn'tgoodly wine—1ST BEGGAR.Then there isn't a goodly wench to serve him with it: they werefighting for her to-day in the street.3RD BEGGAR.Peace!1ST BEGGAR.The black sheep baaed to the miller's ewe-lamb,The miller's away for to-night.Black sheep, quoth she, too black a sin for me.And what said the black sheep, my masters?We can make a black sin white.3RD BEGGAR.Peace!1ST BEGGAR.'Ewe lamb, ewe lamb, I am here by the dam.'But the miller came home that night,And so dusted his back with the meal in his sack,That he made the black sheep white.3RD BEGGAR.Be we not of the family? be we not a-supping with the head of thefamily? be we not in my lord's own refractory? Out from among us; thouart our black sheep.Enter the fourKNIGHTS.FITZURSE.Sheep, said he? And sheep without the shepherd, too. Where is my lordArchbishop? Thou the lustiest and lousiest of this Cain's brotherhood,answer.3RD BEGGAR.With Cain's answer, my lord. Am I his keeper? Thou shouldst call himCain, not me.FITZURSE.So I do, for he would murder his brother the State.3RD BEGGAR (rising and advancing).No my lord; but because the Lord hath set his mark upon him that noman should murder him.FITZURSE.Where is he? where is he?3RD BEGGAR.With Cain belike, in the land of Nod, or in the land of France foraught I know.FITZURSE.France! Ha! De Morville, Tracy, Brito—fled is he? Cross swords all ofyou! swear to follow him! Remember the Queen![The fourKNIGHTScross their swords.DE BRITO.They mock us; he is here.[All theBEGGARSrise and advance upon them.FITZURSE.Come, you filthy knaves, let us pass.3RD BEGGAR.Nay, my lord, letuspass. We be a-going homeafter our supper in all humbleness, my lord; for theArchbishop loves humbleness, my lord; and thoughwe be fifty to four, we daren't fight you with ourcrutches, my lord. There now, if thou hast not laidhands upon me! and my fellows know that I am allone scale like a fish. I pray God I haven't given theemy leprosy, my lord.[FITZURSEshrinks from him and another presses uponDE BRITO.DE BRITO.Away, dog!4TH BEGGAR.And I was bit by a mad dog o' Friday, an' I be half dog already bythis token, that tho' I can drink wine I cannot bide water, my lord;and I want to bite, I want to bite, and they do say the very breathcatches.DE BRITO.Insolent clown. Shall I smite him with the edge of the sword?DE MORVILLE.No, nor with the flat of it either. Smite the shepherd and the sheepare scattered. Smite the sheep and the shepherd will excommunicatethee.DE BRITO.Yet my fingers itch to beat him into nothing.5TH BEGGAR.So do mine, my lord. I was born with it, and sulphur won't bring itout o' me. But for all that the Archbishop washed my feet o' Tuesday.He likes it, my lord.6TH BEGGAR.And see here, my lord, this rag fro' the gangrene i' my leg. It'shumbling—it smells o' human natur'. Wilt thou smell it, my lord? forthe Archbishop likes the smell on it, my lord; for I be his lord andmaster i' Christ, my lord.DE MORVILLE.Faugh! we shall all be poisoned. Let us go.[They draw back,BEGGARSfollowing.7TH BEGGAR.My lord, I ha' three sisters a-dying at home o' the sweating sickness.They be dead while I be a-supping.8TH BEGGAR.And I ha' nine darters i' the spital that be dead ten times o'er i'one day wi' the putrid fever; and I bring the taint on it along wi'me, for the Archbishop likes it, my lord.[Pressing upon theKNIGHTStill they disappear thro' the door.3RD BEGGAR.Crutches, and itches, and leprosies, and ulcers, and gangrenes, andrunning sores, praise ye the Lord, for to-night ye have saved ourArchbishop!1ST BEGGAR.I'll go back again. I hain't half done yet.HERBERT OF BOSHAM (entering).My friends, the Archbishop bids you good-night. He hath retired torest, and being in great jeopardy of his life, he hath made his bedbetween the altars, from whence he sends me to bid you this night prayfor him who hath fed you in the wilderness.3RD BEGGAR.So we will—so we will, I warrant thee. Becket shall be king, and theHoly Father shall be king, and the world shall live by the King'svenison and the bread o' the Lord, and there shall be no more poor forever. Hurrah! Vive le Roy! That's the English of it.
ACT II.
SCENE I.—ROSAMUND'SBower. A Garden of Flowers. In the midst a bankof wild-flowers with a bench before it.
Voices heard singing among the trees.Duet.1. Is it the wind of the dawn that I hear in the pine overhead?2. No; but the voice of the deep as it hollows the cliffs of the land.1. Is there a voice coming up with the voice of the deep from thestrand,One coming up with a song in the flush of the glimmering red?2. Love that is born of the deep coming up with the sun from the sea.1. Love that can shape or can shatter a life till the life shall havefled?2. Nay, let us welcome him, Love that can lift up a life from thedead.1. Keep him away from the lone little isle. Let us be, let us be.2. Nay, let him make it his own, let him reign in it—he, it is he,Love that is born of the deep coming up with the sun from the sea.EnterHENRYandROSAMUND.ROSAMUND.Be friends with him again—I do beseech thee.HENRY.With Becket? I have but one hour with thee—Sceptre and crozier clashing, and the mitreGrappling the crown—and when I flee from thisFor a gasp of freer air, a breathing-whileTo rest upon thy bosom and forget him—Why thou, my bird, thou pipest Becket, Becket—Yea, thou my golden dream of Love's own bower,Must be the nightmare breaking on my peaceWith 'Becket.'ROSAMUND.O my life's life, not to smileIs all but death to me. My sun, no cloud!Let there not be one frown in this one hour.Out of the many thine, let this be mine!Look rather thou all-royal as when firstI met thee.HENRY.Where was that?ROSAMUND.Forgetting thatForgets me too.HENRY.Nay, I remember it well.There on the moors.ROSAMUND.And in a narrow path.A plover flew before thee. Then I sawThy high black steed among the flaming furze,Like sudden night in the main glare of day.And from that height something was said to meI knew not what.HENRY.I ask'd the way.ROSAMUND.I think so.So I lost mine.HENRY.Thou wast too shamed to answer.ROSAMUND.Too scared—so young!HENRY.The rosebud of my rose!—Well, well, no more ofhim—I have sent his folk,His kin, all his belongings, overseas;Age, orphans, and babe-breasting mothers—allBy hundreds to him—there to beg, starve, die—So that the fool King Louis feed them not.The man shall feel that I can strike him yet.ROSAMUND.Babes, orphans, mothers! is that royal, Sire?HENRY.And I have been as royal with the Church.He shelter'd in the Abbey of Pontigny.There wore his time studying the canon lawTo work it against me. But since he cursedMy friends at Veselay, I have let them know,That if they keep him longer as their guest,I scatter all their cowls to all the hells.ROSAMUND.And is that altogether royal?HENRY.Traitress!ROSAMUND.A faithful traitress to thy royal fame.HENRY.Fame! what care I for fame? Spite, ignorance, envy,Yea, honesty too, paint her what way they will.Fame of to-day is infamy to-morrow;Infamy of to-day is fame to-morrow;And round and round again. What matters? Royal—Imean to leave the royalty of my crownUnlessen'd to mine heirs.ROSAMUND.Still—thy fame too:I say that should be royal.HENRY.And I say,I care not for thy saying.ROSAMUND.And I say,I care not forthysaying. A greater KingThan thou art, Love, who cares not for the word,Makes 'care not'—care. There have I spoken true?HENRY.Care dwell with me for ever, when I ceaseTo care for thee as ever!ROSAMUND.No need! no need!...There is a bench. Come, wilt thou sit?... My bankOf wild-flowers [he sits]. At thy feet![She sits at his feet.HENRY.I had them clearA royal pleasaunce for thee, in the wood,Not leave these countryfolk at court.ROSAMUND.I brought themIn from the wood, and set them here. I love themMore than the garden flowers, that seem at mostSweet guests, or foreign cousins, not half speakingThe language of the land. I lovethemtoo,Yes. But, my liege, I am sure, of all the roses—Shame fall on those who gave it a dog's name—This wild one (picking a briar-rose)—nay, I shall not prick myself—Is sweetest. Do but smell!HENRY.Thou rose of the world!Thou rose of all the roses![Muttering.I am not worthy of her—this beast-bodyThat God has plunged my soul in—I, that takingThe Fiend's advantage of a throne, so longHave wander'd among women,—a foul streamThro' fever-breeding levels,—at her side,Among these happy dales, run clearer, dropThe mud I carried, like yon brook, and glassThe faithful face of heaven—[Looking at her, and unconsciously aloud,—thine! thine!ROSAMUND.I know it.HENRY (muttering).Not hers. We have but one bond, her hate of Becket.ROSAMUND (half hearing).Nay! nay! what art thou muttering?Ihate Becket?HENRY (muttering).A sane and natural loathing for a soulPurer, and truer and nobler than herself;And mine a bitterer illegitimate hate,A bastard hate born of a former love.ROSAMUND,My fault to name him! O let the hand of oneTo whom thy voice is all her music, stay itBut for a breath.[Puts her hand before his lips.Speak only of thy love.Why there—like some loud beggar at thy gate—The happy boldness of this hand hath won itLove's alms, thy kiss (looking at her hand)—Sacred!I'll kiss it too. [Kissing it.There! wherefore dost thou so peruse it? Nay,There may be crosses in my line of life.HENRY.Not halfherhand—no hand to mate withher,If it should come to that.ROSAMUND.With her? with whom?HENRY.Life on the hand is naked gipsy-stuff;Life on the face, the brows-clear innocence!Vein'd marble—not a furrow yet—and hers[Muttering.Crost and recrost, a venomous spider's web—ROSAMUND (springing up).Out of the cloud, my Sun—out of the eclipseNarrowing my golden hour!HENRY.O Rosamund,I would be true—would tell thee all—and somethingI had to say—I love thee none the less—Which will so vex thee.ROSAMUND.Something againstme?HENRY.No, no, against myself.ROSAMUND.I will not hear it.Come, come, mine hour! I bargain for mine hour.I'll call thee little Geoffrey.HENRY.Call him!ROSAMUND.Geoffrey![EnterGEOFFREY.HENRY.How the boy grows!ROSAMUND.Ay, and his brows are thine;The mouth is only Clifford, my dear father.GEOFFREY.My liege, what hast thou brought me?HENRY.Venal imp!What say'st thou to the Chancellorship of England?GEOFFREY.O yes, my liege.HENRY.'O yes, my liege!' He speaksAs if it were a cake of gingerbread.Dost thou know, my boy, what it is to be Chancellor of England?GEOFFREY.Something good, or thou wouldst not give it me.HENRY.It is, my boy, to side with the King when Chancellor, and then to bemade Archbishop and go against the King who made him, and turn theworld upside down.GEOFFREY.I won't have it then. Nay, but give it me, and I promise thee not toturn the world upside down.HENRY (giving him a ball).Here is a ball, my boy, thy world, to turn anyway and play with asthou wilt—which is more than I can do with mine. Go try it, play.[ExitGEOFFREY.A pretty lusty boy.ROSAMUND.So like to thee;Like to be liker.HENRY.Not in my chin, I hope!That threatens double.ROSAMUND.Thou art manlike perfect.HENRY.Ay, ay, no doubt; and were I humpt behind,Thou'dst say as much—the goodly way of womenWho love, for which I love them. May God grantNo ill befall or him or thee when IAm gone.ROSAMUND.Ishethy enemy?HENRY.He? who? ay!ROSAMUND.Thine enemy knows the secret of my bower.HENRY.And I could tear him asunder with wild horsesBefore he would betray it. Nay—no fear!More like is he to excommunicate me.ROSAMUND.And I would creep, crawl over knife-edge flintBarefoot, a hundred leagues, to stay his handBefore he flash'd the bolt.HENRY.And when he flash'd itShrink from me, like a daughter of the Church.ROSAMUND.Ay, but he will not.HENRY.Ay! but if he did?ROSAMUND.O then! O then! I almost fear to sayThat my poor heretic heart would excommunicateHis excommunication, clinging to theeCloser than ever.HENRY (raisingROSAMUNDand kissing her).My brave-hearted Rose!Hath he ever been to see thee?ROSAMUNDHere? not he.And it is so lonely here—no confessor.HENRY.Thou shall confess all thy sweet sins to me.ROSAMUND.Besides, we came away in such a heat,I brought not ev'n my crucifix.HENRY.Take this.[Giving her the Crucifix whichELEANORgave him.ROSAMUND.O beautiful! May I have it as mine, till mineBe mine again?HENRY (throwing it round her neck).Thine—as I am—till death!ROSAMUND.Death? no! I'll have it with me in my shroud,And wake with it, and show it to all the Saints.HENRY.Nay—I must go; but when thou layest thy lipTo this, remembering One who died for thee,Remember also one who lives for theeOut there in France; for I must hence to braveThe Pope, King Louis, and this turbulent priest.ROSAMUND (kneeling).O by thy love for me, all mine for thee,Fling not thy soul into the flames of hell:I kneel to thee—be friends with him again.HENRY.Look, look! if little Geoffrey have not tostHis ball into the brook! makes after it tooTo find it. Why, the child will drown himself.ROSAMUND.Geoffrey! Geoffrey![Exeunt.