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 no man 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 for aught I know.

FITZURSE.

France! Ha! De Morville, Tracy, Brito--fled is he? Cross swords all of you! swear to follow him! Remember the Queen!

[_The four_ KNIGHTS _cross their swords_.

DE BRITO.

They mock us; he is here.

[_All the_ BEGGARS _rise and advance upon them_.

FITZURSE.

Come, you filthy knaves, let us pa.s.s.

3RD BEGGAR.

Nay, my lord, let _us_ pa.s.s. We be a-going home after our supper in all humbleness, my lord; for the Archbishop loves humbleness, my lord; and though we be fifty to four, we daren't fight you with our crutches, my lord. There now, if thou hast not laid hands upon me! and my fellows know that I am all one scale like a fish. I pray G.o.d I haven't given thee my leprosy, my lord.

[FITZURSE _shrinks from him and another presses upon_ DE BRITO.

DE BRITO.

Away, dog!

4TH BEGGAR.

And I was bit by a mad dog o' Friday, an' I be half dog already by this 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 breath catches.

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 sheep are scattered. Smite the sheep and the shepherd will excommunicate thee.

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 it out 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's humbling--it smells o' human natur'. Wilt thou smell it, my lord? for the Archbishop likes the smell on it, my lord; for I be his lord and master i' Christ, my lord.

DE MORVILLE.

Faugh! we shall all be poisoned. Let us go.

[_They draw back,_ BEGGARS _following_.

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 the_ KNIGHTS _till they disappear thro' the door_.

3RD BEGGAR.

Crutches, and itches, and leprosies, and ulcers, and gangrenes, and running sores, praise ye the Lord, for to-night ye have saved our Archbishop!

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 to rest, and being in great jeopardy of his life, he hath made his bed between the altars, from whence he sends me to bid you this night pray for him who hath fed you in the wilderness.

3RD BEGGAR.

So we will--so we will, I warrant thee. Becket shall be king, and the Holy Father shall be king, and the world shall live by the King's venison and the bread o' the Lord, and there shall be no more poor for ever. Hurrah! Vive le Roy! That's the English of it.

ACT II.

SCENE I.--ROSAMUND'S _Bower. A Garden of Flowers. In the midst a bank of 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 the strand, 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.