Well acted, was it?

A comedy meant to seem a tragedy-- A feint, a farce. My honest lord, you are known Thro' all the courts of Christendom as one That mars a cause with over-violence.

You have wrong'd Fitzurse. I speak not of myself.

We thought to scare this minion of the King Back from her churchless commerce with the King To the fond arms of her first love, Fitzurse, Who swore to marry her. You have spoilt the farce.

My savage cry? Why, she--she--when I strove To work against her license for her good, Bark'd out at me such monstrous charges, that The King himself, for love of his own sons, If hearing, would have spurn'd her; whereupon I menaced her with this, as when we threaten A yelper with a stick. Nay, I deny not That I was somewhat anger'd. Do you hear me?

Believe or no, I care not. You have lost The ear of the King. I have it.... My lord Paramount, Our great High-priest, will not your Holiness Vouchsafe a gracious answer to your Queen?

BECKET.

Rosamund hath not answer'd you one word; Madam, I will not answer you one word.

Daughter, the world hath trick'd thee. Leave it, daughter; Come thou with me to G.o.dstow nunnery, And live what may be left thee of a life Saved as by miracle alone with Him Who gave it.

_Re-enter_ GEOFFREY.

GEOFFREY.

Mother, you told me a great fib: it wasn't in the willow.

BECKET.

Follow us, my son, and we will find it for thee-- Or something manlier.

[_Exeunt_ BECKET, ROSAMUND, _and_ GEOFFREY.

ELEANOR.

The world hath trick'd her--that's the King; if so, There was the farce, the feint--not mine. And yet I am all but sure my dagger was a feint Till the worm turn'd--not life shot up in blood, But death drawn in;--_(looking at the vial) this_ was no feint then?

no.

But can I swear to that, had she but given Plain answer to plain query? nay, methinks Had she but bow'd herself to meet the wave Of humiliation, worshipt whom she loathed, I should have let her be, scorn'd her too much To harm her. Henry--Becket tells him this-- To take my life might lose him Aquitaine.

Too politic for that. Imprison me?

No, for it came to nothing--only a feint.

Did she not tell me I was playing on her?

I'll swear to mine own self it was a feint.

Why should I swear, Eleanor, who am, or was, A sovereign power? The King plucks out their eyes Who anger him, and shall not I, the Queen, Tear out her heart--kill, kill with knife or venom One of his slanderous harlots? 'None of such?'

I love her none the more. Tut, the chance gone, She lives--but not for him; one point is gain'd.

O I, that thro' the Pope divorced King Louis, Scorning his monkery,--I that wedded Henry, Honouring his manhood--will he not mock at me The jealous fool balk'd of her will--with _him_?

But he and he must never meet again.

Reginald Fitzurse!

_Re-enter_ FITZURSE.

FITZURSE.

Here, Madam, at your pleasure.

ELEANOR.

My pleasure is to have a man about me.

Why did you slink away so like a cur?

FITZURSE.

Madam, I am as much man as the King.

Madam, I fear Church-censures like your King.

ELEANOR.

He grovels to the Church when he's black-blooded, But kinglike fought the proud archbishop,--kinglike Defied the Pope, and, like his kingly sires, The Normans, striving still to break or bind The spiritual giant with our island laws And customs, made me for the moment proud Ev'n of that stale Church-bond which link'd me with him To bear him kingly sons. I am not so sure But that I love him still. Thou as much man!

No more of that; we will to France and be Beforehand with the King, and brew from out This G.o.dstow-Becket intermeddling such A strong hate-philtre as may madden him--madden Against his priest beyond all h.e.l.lebore.

ACT V.

SCENE I.--_Castle in Normandy. King's Chamber_.

HENRY, ROGER OF YORK, FOLIOT, JOCELYN OF SALISBURY.

ROGER OF YORK.

Nay, nay, my liege, He rides abroad with armed followers, Hath broken all his promises to thyself, Cursed and anathematised us right and left, Stirr'd up a party there against your son--

HENRY.

Roger of York, you always hated him, Even when you both were boys at Theobald's.

ROGER OF YORK.

I always hated boundless arrogance.

In mine own cause I strove against him there, And in thy cause I strive against him now.

HENRY.

I cannot think he moves against my son, Knowing right well with what a tenderness He loved my son.

ROGER OF YORK.

Before you made him king.

But Becket ever moves against a king.

The Church is all--the crime to be a king.

We trust your Royal Grace, lord of more land Than any crown in Europe, will not yield To lay your neck beneath your citizens' heel.

HENRY.

Not to a Gregory of my throning! No.

FOLIOT.

My royal liege, in aiming at your love, It may be sometimes I have overshot My duties to our Holy Mother Church, Tho' all the world allows I fall no inch Behind this Becket, rather go beyond In scourgings, macerations, mortifyings, Fasts, disciplines that clear the spiritual eye, And break the soul from earth. Let all that be.

I boast not: but you know thro' all this quarrel I still have cleaved to the crown, in hope the crown Would cleave to me that but obey'd the crown, Crowning your son; for which our loyal service, And since we likewise swore to obey the customs, York and myself, and our good Salisbury here, Are push'd from out communion of the Church.

JOCELYN OF SALISBURY.

Becket hath trodden on us like worms, my liege; Trodden one half dead; one half, but half-alive, Cries to the King.

HENRY (_aside_).

Take care o' thyself, O King.

JOCELYN OF SALISBURY.

Being so crush'd and so humiliated We scarcely dare to bless the food we eat Because of Becket.

HENRY.