Whatever he say, Deny not thou G.o.d"s honour for a king.
The King looks troubled.
_Re-enter_ KING LOUIS.
LOUIS.
My dear lord Archbishop, I learn but now that those poor Poitevins, That in thy cause were stirr"d against King Henry, Have been, despite his kingly promise given To our own self of pardon, evilly used And put to pain. I have lost all trust in him.
The Church alone hath eyes--and now I see That I was blind--suffer the phrase--surrendering G.o.d"s honour to the pleasure of a man.
Forgive me and absolve me, holy father. [_Kneels_.
BECKET.
Son, I absolve thee in the name of G.o.d.
LOUIS (_rising_).
Return to Sens, where we will care for you.
The wine and wealth of all our France are yours; Rest in our realm, and be at peace with all.
[_Exeunt_.
_Voices from the Crowd_.
Long live the good King Louis! G.o.d bless the great Archbishop!
_Re-enter_ HENRY _and_ JOHN OF OXFORD.
HENRY (_looking after_ KING LOUIS _and_ BECKET).
Ay, there they go--both backs are turn"d to me-- Why then I strike into my former path For England, crown young Henry there, and make Our waning Eleanor all but love me!
John, Thou hast served me heretofore with Rome--and well.
They call thee John the Swearer.
JOHN OF OXFORD.
For this reason, That, being ever duteous to the King, I evermore have sworn upon his side, And ever mean to do it.
HENRY (_claps him on the shoulder_).
Honest John!
To Rome again! the storm begins again.
Spare not thy tongue! be lavish with our coins, Threaten our junction with the Emperor--flatter And fright the Pope--bribe all the Cardinals--leave Lateran and Vatican in one dust of gold-- Swear and unswear, state and misstate thy best!
I go to have young Henry crown"d by York.
ACT III.
SCENE I.--_The Bower_. HENRY _and_ ROSAMUND.
HENRY.
All that you say is just. I cannot answer it Till better times, when I shall put away--
ROSAMUND.
What will you put away?
HENRY.
That which you ask me Till better times. Let it content you now There is no woman that I love so well.
ROSAMUND.
No woman but should be content with that--
HENRY.
And one fair child to fondle!
ROSAMUND.
O yes, the child We waited for so long--heaven"s gift at last-- And how you doated on him then! To-day I almost fear"d your kiss was colder--yes-- But then the child _is_ such a child. What chance That he should ever spread into the man Here in our silence? I have done my best.
I am not learn"d.
HENRY.
I am the King, his father, And I will look to it. Is our secret ours?
Have you had any alarm? no stranger?
ROSAMUND.
No.
The warder of the bower hath given himself Of late to wine. I sometimes think he sleeps When he should watch; and yet what fear? the people Believe the wood enchanted. No one comes, Nor foe nor friend; his fond excess of wine Springs from the loneliness of my poor bower, Which weighs even on me.
HENRY.
Yet these tree-towers, Their long bird-echoing minster-aisles,--the voice Of the perpetual brook, these golden slopes Of Solomon-shaming flowers--that was your saying, All pleased you so at first.
ROSAMUND.
Not now so much.
My Anjou bower was scarce as beautiful.
But you were oftener there. I have none but you.
The brook"s voice is not yours, and no flower, not The sun himself, should he be changed to one, Could shine away the darkness of that gap Left by the lack of love.
HENRY.
The lack of love!
ROSAMUND.
Of one we love. Nay, I would not be bold, Yet hoped ere this you might-- [_Looks earnestly at him_.
HENRY.
Anything further?
ROSAMUND.
Only my best bower-maiden died of late, And that old priest whom John of Salisbury trusted Hath sent another.
HENRY.
Secret?
ROSAMUND.
I but ask"d her One question, and she primm"d her mouth and put Her hands together--thus--and said, G.o.d help her, That she was sworn to silence.