Thou art manlike perfect.

HENRY.

Ay, ay, no doubt; and were I humpt behind, Thou'dst say as much--the goodly way of women Who love, for which I love them. May G.o.d grant No ill befall or him or thee when I Am gone.

ROSAMUND.

Is _he_ thy enemy?

HENRY.

He? who? ay!

ROSAMUND.

Thine enemy knows the secret of my bower.

HENRY.

And I could tear him asunder with wild horses Before he would betray it. Nay--no fear!

More like is he to excommunicate me.

ROSAMUND.

And I would creep, crawl over knife-edge flint Barefoot, a hundred leagues, to stay his hand Before he flash'd the bolt.

HENRY.

And when he flash'd it Shrink 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 say That my poor heretic heart would excommunicate His excommunication, clinging to thee Closer than ever.

HENRY (_raising_ ROSAMUND _and kissing her_).

My brave-hearted Rose!

Hath he ever been to see thee?

ROSAMUND Here? 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 which_ ELEANOR _gave him_.

ROSAMUND.

O beautiful! May I have it as mine, till mine Be 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 lip To this, remembering One who died for thee, Remember also one who lives for thee Out there in France; for I must hence to brave The 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 h.e.l.l: I kneel to thee--be friends with him again.

HENRY.

Look, look! if little Geoffrey have not tost His ball into the brook! makes after it too To find it. Why, the child will drown himself.

ROSAMUND.

Geoffrey! Geoffrey!

[_Exeunt_.

SCENE II.--_Montmirail. 'The Meeting of the Kings.'_

JOHN OF OXFORD _and_ HENRY. _Crowd in the distance_.

JOHN OF OXFORD.

You have not crown'd young Henry yet, my liege?

HENRY.

Crown'd! by G.o.d's eyes, we will not have him crown'd.

I spoke of late to the boy, he answer'd me, As if he wore the crown already--No, We will not have him crown'd.

'Tis true what Becket told me, that the mother Would make him play his kingship against mine.

JOHN OF OXFORD.

Not have him crown'd?

HENRY.

Not now--not yet! and Becket Becket should crown him were he crown'd at all: But, since we would be lord of our own manor, This Canterbury, like a wounded deer, Has fled our presence and our feeding-grounds.

JOHN OF OXFORD.

Cannot a smooth tongue lick him whole again To serve your will?

HENRY.

He hates my will, not me.