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-anathematize 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. A policy of wise pardon Wins here as well as there. To bless 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. 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. Rosamund (throwing back the cowl). I know him; our good John of Becket. Breaking already from thy 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 novitiate, 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 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, He thought to excommunicate him - 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 excom- Becket. Daughter, my time is short, 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 nun nery with all haste; Let this be thy last trespass. But one question How fares thy pretty boy, the little No fever, cough, croup, sickness? plagues That smite the city spare the solitudes. Becket. God save him from all sickness of the soul! Thee too, thy solitude among thy nuns, May that save thee! Doth he remember me? Rosamund. I warrant him. Rosamund. Liker the King. Till his nose rises; he will be very king. Becket. Ev'n so: but think not of And breathe one prayer for my liegelord the King, His child and mine own soul, and so return. Becket. Pray for me too: much need of prayer have I. [Rosamund kneels and goes. Dan John, how much we lose, we celibates, 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 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 my own life down To help him from them, since indeed I loved him, And love him next after my lord his father. Rather than dim the splendor of his crown I fain would treble and quadruple it With revenues, realms, and golden provinces So that were done in equity. Your bond of peace, your treaty with the King Wakening such brawls and loud disturbances In England, that he calls you oversea To answer for it in his Norman courts. Becket. Prate not of bonds, for never, oh, never again Shall the waste voice of the bondbreaking sea Divide me from the mother church of England, My Canterbury. Loud disturbances! Oh, ay- the bells rang out even to deafening, Organ and pipe, and dulcimer, chants and hymns In all the churches, trumpets in the halls, Sobs, laughter, cries: they spread their raiment down Before me-would have made my pathway flowers, Save that it was mid-winter in the street, But full mid-summer in those honest hearts. Fitzurse. The King commands you to absolve the bishops Whom you have excommunicated. Becket. I? The prelates whom he chose to crown his son ! Becket. I spake no word of treachery, Reginald. But for the truth of this I make appeal To all the archbishops, bishops, prelates, barons, Monks, knights, five hundred, that were there and heard. Nay, you yourself were there: you heard yourself. Fitzurse. I was not there. Becket. Fitzurse. He makes the King a How long shall we forbear him? John of Salisbury (drawing Becket aside). O my good lord, Speak with them privately on this hereafter. You see they have been revelling, and I fear Are braced and brazen'd up with And yet they prate Of mine, my brawls, when those, that name themselves Of the King's part, have broken down our barns, Wasted our diocese, outraged our ten ants. Lifted our produce, driven our clerics out Why they, your friends, these ruffians, the De Brocs, They stood on Dover beach to murder me, They slew my stags in mine own manor here, Mutilated, poor brute, my sumptermule, Plunder'd the vessel full of Gascon wine, The old King's present, carried off the casks, Kill'd half the crew, dungeon'd the other half In Pevensey Castle |