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 THE WORKS 
 
 OF 
 
 ALFRED LORD TENNYSON 
 IN SIX VOLUMES 
 
 VOLUME VI
 
 ■>^ 
 
 •The: 
 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 NEW YORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO 
 ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO 
 
 MACMILLAN & CO., Limited 
 
 LONDON ■ BOMBAY • CALCUTTA 
 MELBOURNE 
 
 THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd. 
 
 TORONTO
 
 THE WORKS OF 
 ALFRED 
 
 LORD TENNYSON 
 
 VOLUME VI 
 
 ANNOTATED BY 
 ALFRED LORD TENNYSON 
 
 EDITED BY 
 HALLAM LORD TENNYSON 
 
 /8n 
 
 Neiri ^axk 
 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 1908 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
 711 CLX , I06S
 
 Copyright, 1893, 
 By MACMILLAN AND CO. 
 
 Copyright, 1907, 1908, 
 By the MACMILLAN COMPANY. 
 
 Set up and electrotyped. Published May, 1893. Reprinted 
 February, 1894. New edition in six volumes, September, 1896. 
 New edition, October, 1899: September, 1903. 
 
 New edition, with author's notes, November, 1908. 
 
 NotiDOOD llrtBS 
 
 J. S. Gushing Co. — Berwick & Smith Co. 
 
 Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. 

 
 ? K 
 
 5 5 
 
 yo<^ 
 
 v> W 
 
 coa^. 
 
 CONTENTS OF VOLUME VI 
 
 Becket I 
 
 The Falcon 219 
 
 The Foresters 261 
 
 APPENDIX — 
 
 Unpublished Sonnet 427 
 
 NOTES 429
 
 BECKET.
 
 TO THE LORD CHANCELLOR, 
 
 Z\)t Eight ^onouratle CHarl of Sclborne. 
 
 MV DEAR SELBORNE, 
 
 To you, the honom-ed Chancellor of our own 
 day, I dedicate this dramatic memorial of xour great 
 predecessor ; — 7ohich, a lth o ' not_in.tejid£.d iji its present 
 fortn to meet the exigencies of our modern theatre, 
 has nevertheless — for so you have assured me — won 
 your approbation. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 TENNYSON.
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONM. 
 
 Henry II. {son of the Earl of Anjou). 
 
 Thomas Becket, Chancellor of England, afterwards Arch- 
 bishop of Canterbury. 
 Gilbert Foliot, Bishop of London. 
 Roger, Archbishop of York. 
 Bishop of Hereford. 
 Hilary, Bishop of Chichester. 
 Jocelyn, Bishop of Salisbury. 
 
 John of Salisbury -» ^ . , ^ „ , 
 „ ^ \ friends of Becket. 
 
 Herbert of Bosham y •' 
 
 Walter Map, reputed author of ' Golias, Latin poems against 
 
 the priesthood. 
 King Louis of Fr.a.nce. 
 Geoffrey, son of Rosamund and Henry. 
 Grim, a monk of Cambridge. 
 Sir Reginald Fitzurse ^ 
 
 Sir Richard de Brito \the four knights of the King's 
 Sir William de Tracy '' household, enemies of Becket. 
 Sir Hugh de Morville . 
 De Broc of Saltwood Castle. 
 Lord Leicester. 
 Philip de Eleemosyna. 
 Two Knight Templars. 
 John of Oxford {called the Swear er"). 
 Eleanor of Aquitaine, Queen of England {divorced from 
 
 Louis of France^. 
 Rosamund de Clifford. 
 Margery. 
 
 Knights, Monks, Beggars, etc.
 
 BECKET. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 A Castle in Normandy. Inferior of the Hall. Roofs 
 of a City seen thro' Windows. 
 
 Henry and Becket at chess. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 So then our good Archbishop Theobald 
 Lies dying. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 I am grieved to know as much. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 But we must have a mightier man than he 
 For his successor. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Have you thought of one? 
 5
 
 BE CKE T. PROLOGUE. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 A cleric lately poison'd his own mother, 
 And being brought before the courts of the Church, 
 They but degraded him** I hope they whipt him. 
 I would have hang'd him. 
 
 BUCKET. . 
 
 It is your move. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 Well — there. \Moves. 
 The Church in the pell-mell of Stephen's time 
 Hath climb'd the throne and almost clutch'd the 
 
 crown ; 
 But by the royal customs of our realm 
 The Church should hold her baronies of me, 
 Like other lords amenable to law. 
 I'll have them written down and made the law. 
 
 Becket. 
 My liege, I move my bishop. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 And if I live, 
 No man without my leave shall excommunicate 
 My tenants or my household.
 
 PROLOGUE. BE CKE T. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Look to your king. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 No man without my leave shall cross the seas 
 To set the Pope against me — I pray your pardon. 
 
 
 
 
 
 Becket. 
 
 
 
 
 Well- 
 
 -vnW 
 
 you 
 
 move? 
 
 Henry. 
 There. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 
 
 'Moves. 
 
 
 
 
 
 Check- 
 
 -you 
 
 move 
 
 so wildly. 
 
 Henry. 
 There then ! \_Moves. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Why — there then, for you see my bishop 
 Hath brought your king to a standstill. You are 
 beaten. 
 
 Henry (^kicks over the board). 
 
 Why, there then — down go bishop and king together. 
 I loathe being beaten ; had I fixt my fancy
 
 BECKET. PROLOGUE. 
 
 Upon the game I should have beaten thee, 
 But that was vagabond. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Where, my liege ? With Phryne, 
 Or Lais, or thy Rosamund, or another? 
 
 Henry. 
 
 My Rosamund is no Lais, Thomas Becket ; 
 
 And yet she plagues me too— no fault in her 
 
 But that I fear the Queen would have her life. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Put her away, put her away, my liege ! 
 
 Put her away into a nunnery ! 
 
 Safe enough there from her to whom thou art bound 
 
 By Holy Church. And wherefore should she seek 
 
 The Hfe of Rosamund de Clifford more 
 
 Than that of other paramours of thine ? 
 
 Henry. 
 How dost thou know I am not wedded to her? 
 
 Becket. 
 How should I know ?
 
 PROLOGUE. BECKET. 9 
 
 Henry. 
 
 That is my secret, Thomas. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 State secrets should be patent to the statesman 
 Who serves and loves his king, and whom the king 
 Loves not as statesman, but true lover and friend. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 Come, come, thou art but deacon, not yet bishop. 
 No, nor archbishop, nor my confessor yet. 
 I would to God thou wert, for I should find 
 An easy father confessor in thee. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 St. Denis, that thou shouldst not. I should beat 
 Thy kingship as my bishop hath beaten it, 
 
 Henry. 
 
 Hell take thy bishop then, and my kingship too ! 
 
 Come, come, I love thee and I know thee, I know thee, 
 
 A doter on white pheasant-flesh at feasts, 
 
 A sauce-deviser for thy days of fish, 
 
 A dish-designer, and most amorous 
 
 Of good old red sound liberal Gascon wine : 
 
 Will not thy body rebel, man, if thou flatter it ?
 
 lo BECKET. PROLOGUE. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 That palate is insane which cannot tell 
 
 A good dish from a bad, new wine from old. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 Well, who loves wine loves woman. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 So I do. 
 Men are God's trees, and women are God's flowers ; 
 And when the Gascon wine mounts to my head, 
 The trees are all the statelier, and the flowers 
 Are all the fairer. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 And thy thoughts, thy fancies? 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Good dogs, my liege, well train'd, and easily call'd 
 Ofl" from the game. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 Save for some once or twice, 
 When they ran down the game and worried it. 
 
 Becket. 
 No, my Hege, no ! — not once — in God's name, no !
 
 prologue. becket. ii 
 
 Henry. 
 
 Nay, then, I take thee at thy word — believe thee 
 
 The veriest Galahad of old Arthur's hall. 
 
 And so this Rosamund, my true heart-wife. 
 
 Not Eleanor — she whom I love indeed 
 
 As a woman should be loved — Why dost thou smile 
 
 So dolorously? 
 
 Becket. 
 
 My good liege, if a man 
 Wastes himself among women, how should he love 
 A woman, as a woman should be loved ? 
 
 Henry. 
 
 How shouldst thou know that never hast loved one ? 
 Come, I would give her to thy care in England 
 When I am out in Normandy or Anjou. 
 
 Becket. 
 My lord, I am your subject, not your- 
 
 Henry. 
 
 Pander. 
 God's eyes ! I know all that— not my purveyor 
 Of pleasures, but to save a life— her life ; 
 Ay, and the soul of Eleanor from hell-fire.
 
 12 BECKET. PROLOGUE, 
 
 I have built a secret bower in England, Thomas, 
 A nest in a bush. 
 
 Becket. 
 And where, my liege? 
 
 Henry {whispers). 
 
 Thine ear. 
 
 Becket. 
 That's lone enough. 
 
 Henry {laying paper on table'). 
 
 This chart here mark'd 'Her Bower,* 
 Take, keep it, friend. See, first, a circling wood, 
 A hundred pathways running everyway, 
 And then a brook, a bridge ; and after that 
 This labyrinthine brickwork maze in maze, 
 And then another wood, and in the midst 
 A garden and my Rosamund. Look, this Hne — 
 The rest you see is colour'd green — but this 
 Draws thro' the chart to her. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 This blood-red line? 
 
 Henry. 
 Ay ! blood, perchance, except thou see to her.
 
 PROLOGUE. BECKET. 13 
 
 Becket. 
 And where is she? There in her English nest? 
 
 Henry. 
 
 Would God she were — no, here within the city. 
 We take her from her secret bower in Anjou 
 And pass her to her secret bower in England. 
 She is ignorant of all but that I love her. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 My liege, I pray thee let me hence : a widow 
 
 And orphan child, whom one of thy wild barons 
 
 Henry. 
 Ay, ay, but swear to see to her in England. 
 
 Becket. 
 Well, well, I swear, but not to please myself. 
 
 Henry. 
 Whatever come between us? 
 
 Becket. 
 
 What should come 
 Between us, Henry ?
 
 14 BECKET. PROLOGUE. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 Nay — I know not, Thomas. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 What need then ? Well — whatever come between us. 
 
 [ Going. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 A moment ! thou didst help me to my throne 
 
 In Theobald's time, and after by thy wisdom 
 
 Hast kept it firm from shaking ; but now I, 
 
 For my realm's sake, myself must be the wizard 
 
 To raise that tempest which will set it trembling 
 
 Only to base it deeper. I, true son 
 
 Of Holy Church — no croucher to the Gregories 
 
 That tread the kings their children underheel — 
 
 Must curb her ; and the Holy Father, while 
 
 This Barbarossa butts him from his chair, 
 
 Will need my help — be facile to my hands. 
 
 Now is my time. Yet — lest there should be flashes 
 
 And fulminations from the side of Rome, 
 
 An interdict on England — I will have 
 
 My young son Henry crown'd the King of England, 
 
 That so the Papal bolt may pass by England, 
 
 As seeming his, not mine, and fall abroad. 
 
 I'll have it done — and now.
 
 PROLOGUE. BECKET. 15 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Surely too young 
 Even for this shadow of a crown ; and tho' 
 I love him heartily, I can spy already 
 A strain of hard and headstrong in him. Say, 
 The Queen should play his kingship against thine ! 
 
 Henry. 
 
 I will not think so, Thomas. Who shall crown him ? 
 Canterbury is dying. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 The next Canterbury. 
 
 Henry. 
 And who shall he be, my friend Thomas ? Who ? 
 
 Becket. 
 Name him ; the Holy Father will confirm him. 
 
 Henry {lays his hand on Becket's shoulder) . 
 
 Here! 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Mock me not. I am not even a monk. 
 Thy jest — no more. Why — look — is this a sleeve 
 For an archbishop ?
 
 i6 BECKET. PROLOGUE. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 But the arm within 
 Is Becket's, who hath beaten down my foes. 
 
 Becket. 
 A soldier's, not a spiritual arm. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 I lack a spiritual soldier, Thomas — 
 
 A man of this world and the next to boot. 
 
 Becket. 
 There's Gilbert Foliot. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 He ! too thin, too thin. 
 Thou art the man to fill out the Church robe ; 
 Your Foliot fasts and fawns too much for me. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Roger of York. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 Roger is Roger of York. 
 King, Church, and State to him but foils wherein 
 To set that precious jewel, Roger of York. 
 No.
 
 PROLOGUE. BECKET. 1 7 
 
 Becket. 
 Henry of Winchester ? 
 
 Henry. 
 
 Him who crown'd Stephen — 
 King Stephen's brother ! No ; too royal for me. 
 And I'll have no more Anselms. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Sire, the business 
 Of thy whole kingdom waits me : let me go. 
 
 Henry. 
 Answer me first. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Then for thy barren jest 
 Take thou mine answer in bare commonplace— 
 Nolo episcopari. , 
 
 Henry. 
 
 Ay, but Nolo 
 Archiepiscopari, my good friend, 
 Is quite another matter. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 A more awful one. 
 Make me archbishop ! Why, my liege, I know 
 
 VOL. VI. c
 
 1 8 BECKET. PROLOGUE. 
 
 Some three or four poor priests a thousand times 
 Fitter for this grand function. Me archbishop ! 
 God's favour and king's favour might so clash 
 That thou and I That were a jest indeed ! 
 
 Henry. 
 Thou angerest me, man ; I do not jest. 
 
 Enter Eleanor a7id Sir Reginald Fitzurse. 
 
 Eleanor {singing). 
 Over ! the sweet summer closes, 
 The reign of the roses is done 
 
 Henry {to Becket, tvho is going). 
 Thou shalt not go. I have not ended with thee. 
 
 Eleanor {seeing chart on table) . 
 This chart with the red line ! her bower ! whose 
 bower ? 
 
 Henry. 
 
 The chart is not mine, but Becket's : take it, 
 Thomas. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Becket ! O — ay — and these chessmen on the floor 
 — the king's crown broken ! Becket hath beaten thee 
 again — and thou hast kicked down the board. I know 
 thee of old.
 
 prologue, becket. 19 
 
 Henry. 
 True enough, my mind was set upon other matters. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 What matters ? State matters ? love matters ? 
 
 Henry. 
 My love for thee, and thine for me. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Over ! the sweet summer closes, 
 
 The reign of the roses is done ; 
 Over and gone with the roses, 
 
 And over and gone with the sun. 
 
 Here ; but our sun in Aquitaine lasts longer. I 
 would I were in Aquitaine again— your north chills me. 
 
 Over ! the sweet summer closes, 
 And never a flower at the close ; 
 
 Over and gone with the roses, 
 And winter again and the snows. 
 
 That was not the way I ended it first — but unsymmetri- 
 cally, preposterously, illogically, out of passion, with- 
 out art — like a song of the people. Will you have it? 
 The last Parthian shaft of a forlorn Cupid at the 
 King's left breast, and all left-handedness and under- 
 handedness.
 
 £0 BECKET. prologue. 
 
 And never a flower at the close, 
 Over and gone with the roses, 
 Not over and gone with the rose. 
 
 True, one rose will outblossom the rest, one rose in a 
 bower. I speak after my fancies, for I am a Trouba- 
 dour, you know, and won the violet at Toulouse ; but 
 my voice is harsh here, not in tune, a nightingale out 
 of season : for marriage, rose or no rose, has killed 
 the golden violet. 
 
 Becket. 
 Madam, you do ill to scorn wedded love. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 So I do. Louis of France loved me, and I dreamed 
 that I loved Louis of France : and I loved Henry of 
 England, and Henry of England dreamed that he 
 loved me ; but the marriage-garland withers even with 
 the putting on, the bright link rusts with the breath of 
 the first after-marriage kiss, the harvest moon is the 
 ripening of the harvest, and the honeymoon is the gall 
 of love ; he dies of his honeymoon. I could pity this 
 poor world myself that it is no better ordered. 
 
 Henry. 
 Dead is he, my Queen? What, altogether? Let 
 me swear nay to that by this cross on thy neck. God's 
 eyes ! what a lovely cross ! what jewels !
 
 PROLOGUE. BECKET. 21 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Doth it please you? Take it and wear it on that 
 hard heart of yours — there. {_Gives it to him. 
 
 Henry {putsitoii). 
 
 On this left breast before so hard a heart, 
 To hide the scar left by thy Parthian dart. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Has my simple song set you jingling? Nay, if I 
 took and translated that hard heart into our Provengal 
 facilities, I could so play about it with the rhyme 
 
 Henry. 
 
 That the heart were lost in the rhyme and the 
 matter in the metre. May we not pray you, Madam, 
 to spare us the hardness of your facility ? 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 The wells of Castaly are not wasted upon the des- 
 ert. We did but jest. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 There's no jest on the brows of Herbert there. 
 What is it, Herbert?
 
 22 BECKET. PROLOGUE. 
 
 Enter Herbert of Bosham. 
 
 Herbert. 
 My liege, the good Archbishop is no more. 
 
 Henry. 
 Peace to his soul ! 
 
 Herbert. 
 
 I left him with peace on his face — that sweet other- 
 world smile, which will be reflected in the spiritual 
 body among the angels. But he longed much to see 
 your Grace and the Chancellor ere he past, and his 
 last words were a commendation of Thomas Becket 
 to your Grace as his successor in the archbishoprick. 
 
 Henry. 
 Ha, Becket ! thou rememberest our talk ! 
 
 Becket. 
 My heart is full of tears — I have no answer. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 Well, well, old men must die, or the world would 
 grow mouldy, would only breed the past again. Come 
 to me to-morrow. Thou hast but to hold out thy
 
 PROLOGUE. BECKET. 23 
 
 hand. Meanwhile the revenues are mine. A-hawk- 
 ing, a-hawking ! If I sit, I grow fat. 
 
 \_Leaps over the table, and exit. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 He did prefer me to the chancellorship, 
 Believing I should ever aid the Church — 
 But have I done it? He commends me now 
 From out his grave to this archbishoprick. 
 
 Herbert. 
 A dead man's dying wish should be of weight. 
 
 Becket. 
 His should. Come with me. Let me learn at full 
 The manner of his death, and all he said. 
 
 \_Exeunt Herbert atid Becket. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Fitzurse, that chart with the red line — thou sawest it 
 — her bower. 
 
 Fitzurse. 
 Rosamund's? 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Ay — there lies the secret of her whereabouts, and 
 the King gave it to his Chancellor.
 
 24 BECKET. PROLOGUE. 
 
 FiTZURSE. 
 
 To this son of a London merchant — how your Grace 
 must hate him. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Hate him ? as brave a soldier as Henry and a good- 
 Her man : but thou — dost thou love this Chancellor, 
 that thou hast sworn a voluntary allegiance to him ? 
 
 FiTZURSE. 
 
 Not for my love toward him, but because he had the 
 love of the King. How should a baron love a beggar 
 on horseback, with the retinue of three kings behind 
 him, outroyalling royalty ? Besides, he holp the King 
 to break down our castles, for the which I hate him. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 For the which I honour him. Statesman not 
 Churchman he. A great and sound policy that : I 
 could embrace him for it : you could not see the King 
 for the kinglings. 
 
 FiTZURSE. 
 
 Ay, but he speaks to a noble as tho' he were a 
 churl, and to a churl as if he were a noble. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Pride of the plebeian !
 
 PROLOGUE. BECKET. 25 
 
 FiTZURSE. 
 
 And this plebeian like to be Archbishop ! 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 True, and I have an inherited loathing of these 
 black sheep of the Papacy. Archbishop ? I can see 
 further into a man than our hot-headed Henry, and 
 if there ever come feud between Church and Crown, 
 and I do not then charm this secret out of our loyal 
 Thomas, I am not Eleanor. 
 
 FiTZURSE. 
 
 Last night I followed a woman in the city here. Her 
 face was veiled, but the back methought was Rosamund 
 — his paramour, thy rival. I can feel for thee. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Thou feel for me ! — paramour — rival ! King Louis 
 had no paramours, and I loved him none the more. 
 Henry had many, and I loved him none the less — now 
 neither more nor less— not at all ; the cup's empty. I 
 would she were but his paramour, for men tire of their 
 fancies ; but I fear this one fancy hath taken root, and 
 borne blossom too, and she, whom the King loves in- 
 deed, is a power in the State. Rival ! — ay, and when 
 the King passes, there may come a crash and embroil-
 
 26 BECKET. PROLOGUE. 
 
 ment as in Stephen's time ; and her children — canst 
 thou not — that secret matter which would heat the 
 King against thee {whispers him a7id he starts). Nay, 
 that is safe with me as with thyself : but canst thou not 
 — thou art drowned in debt — thou shalt have our love, 
 our silence, and our gold — canst thou not — if thou 
 light upon her — free me from her? 
 
 FiTZURSE. 
 
 Well, Madam, I have loved her in my time. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 No, my bear, thou hast not. My Courts of Love 
 would have held thee guiltless of love — the fine attrac- 
 tions and repulses, the delicacies, the subtleties. 
 
 FiTZURSE. 
 
 Madam, I loved according to the main purpose and 
 intent of nature. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 I warrant thee ! thou wouldst hug thy Cupid till his 
 ribs cracked — enough of this. Follow me this Rosa- 
 mund day and night, whithersoever she goes ; track 
 her, if thou canst, even into the King's lodging, that 
 I may {^clenches her fist) — may at least have my cry 
 against him and her, — and thou in thy way shouldst be
 
 PROLOGUE. BECKET. 27 
 
 jealous of the King, for thou in thy way didst once, 
 what shall I call it, affect her thine own self. 
 
 FiTZURSE. 
 
 Ay, but the young colt winced and whinnied and 
 flung up her heels ; and then the King came honeying 
 about her, and this Becket, her father's friend, like 
 enough staved us from her. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Us! 
 
 FiTZURSE. 
 
 Yea, by the Blessed Virgin ! There were more than 
 I buzzing round the blossom — De Tracy — even that 
 flint De Brito. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Carry her off among you ; run in upon her and 
 devour her, one and all of you ; make her as hateful 
 to herself and to the King, as she is to me. 
 
 FiTZURSE. 
 
 I and all would be glad to wreak our spite on the 
 rosefaced minion of the King, and bring her to the 
 level of the dust, so that the King 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Let her eat it like the serpent, and be driven out 
 of her paradise.
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene I. — Becket's House in London. Chajnber 
 barely furnished. Becket unrobing. Herbert 
 OF BosHAM and Servant. 
 
 Servant. 
 Shall I not help your lordship to your rest? 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Friend, am I so much better than thyself 
 That thou shouldst help me ? Thou art wearied out 
 With this day's work, get thee to thine own bed. 
 Leave me with Herbert, friend. \_Exit Servant. 
 
 Help me off, Herbert, with this — and this. 
 
 Herbert. 
 
 Was not the people's blessing as we past 
 Heart-comfort and a balsam to thy blood? 
 
 28
 
 SCENE I. BECKET. 29 
 
 Becket. 
 
 The people know their Church a tower of strength, 
 A bulwark against Throne and Baronage. 
 Too heavy for me, this ; off with it, Herbert ! 
 
 Herbert. 
 Is it so much heavier than thy Chancellor's robe? 
 
 Becket. 
 
 No ; but the Chancellor's and the Archbishop's 
 Together more than mortal man can bear. 
 
 Herbert. 
 Not heavier than thine armour at Thoulouse? 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Herbert, Herbert, in my chancellorship 
 
 1 more than once have gone against the Church. 
 
 Herbert. 
 To please the King? 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Ay, and the King of kings, 
 Or justice ; for it seem'd to me but just
 
 30 BECKET. act i. 
 
 The Church should pay her scutage hke the lords. 
 But hast thou heard this cry of Gilbert Foliot 
 That I am not the man to be your Primate 
 For Henry could not work a miracle — 
 Make an Archbishop of a soldier? 
 
 Herbert. 
 
 Ay, 
 
 For Gilbert Foliot held himself the man. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Am I the man ? My mother, ere she bore me, 
 Dream'd that twelve stars fell glittering out of heaven 
 Into her bosom. 
 
 Herbert. 
 
 Ay, the fire, the light, 
 The spirit of the twelve Apostles enter'd 
 Into thy making. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 And when I was a child. 
 The Virgin, in a vision of my sleep. 
 Gave me the golden keys of Paradise. Dream, 
 Or prophecy, that? 
 
 Herbert. 
 Well, dream and prophecy both.
 
 SCENE I. BECKET. 31 
 
 Becket. 
 And when I was of Theobald's household, once — 
 The good old man would sometimes have his jest — 
 He took his mitre off, and set it on me, 
 And said, ' My young Archbishop — thou wouldst 
 
 make 
 A stately Archbishop!' Jest or prophecy there? 
 
 Herbert. 
 Both, Thomas, both. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Am I the man ? That rang 
 Within my head last night, and when I slept 
 Methought I stood in Canterbury Minster, 
 And spake to the Lord God, and said, 'O Lord, 
 I have been a lover of wines, and delicate meats. 
 And secular splendours, and a favourer 
 Of players, and a courtier, and a feeder 
 Of dogs and hawks, and apes, and lions, and lynxes. 
 Am / the man ? ' And the Lord answer'd me, 
 'Thou art the man, and all the more the man.' 
 And then I asked again, ' O Lord my God, 
 Henry the King hath been my friend, my brother, 
 And mine uplifter in this world, and chosen me 
 For this thy great archbishoprick, believing 
 That I should go against the Church with him,
 
 32 BECKE.T. ACT i. 
 
 And I shall go against him with the Church, 
 And I have said no word of this to him : 
 Am /the man?' And the Lord answer'd me, 
 'Thou art the man, and all the more the man.' 
 And thereupon, methought, He drew toward me, 
 And smote me down upon the Minster floor. 
 I fell. 
 
 Herbert. 
 God make not thee, but thy foes, fall. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 I fell. Why fall? Why did He smite me ? What? 
 Shall I fall off — to please the King once more ? 
 Not fight — tho' somehow traitor to the King — 
 My truest and mine utmost for the Church? 
 
 Herbert. 
 Thou canst not fall that way. Let traitor be ; 
 For how have fought thine utmost for the Church, 
 Save from the throne of thine archbishoprick ? 
 And how been made Archbishop hadst thou told him, 
 ' I mean to fight mine utmost for the Church, 
 Against the King ? ' 
 
 Becket. 
 
 But dost thou think the King 
 Forced mine election?
 
 SCENE I. BECKET. 33 
 
 Herbert. 
 I do think the King 
 Was potent in the election, and why not? 
 Why should not Heaven have so inspired the King? 
 Be comforted. Thou art the man — be thou 
 A mightier Anselm. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 I do believe thee, then. I am the man. 
 
 And yet I seem appall'd — on such a sudden 
 
 At such an eagle-height I stand and see 
 
 The rift that runs between me and the King. 
 
 I served our Theobald well when I was with him ; 
 
 I served King Henry well as Chancellor ; 
 
 I am his no more, and I must serve the Church. 
 
 This Canterbury is only less than Rome, 
 
 And all my doubts I fling from me like dust, 
 
 Winnow and scatter all scruples to the wind, 
 
 And all the puissance of the warrior. 
 
 And all the wisdom of the Chancellor, 
 
 And all the heap'd experiences of hfe, 
 
 I cast upon the side of Canterbury — 
 
 Our holy mother Canterbury, who sits 
 
 With tatter'd robes. Laics and barons, thro' 
 
 The random gifts of careless kings, have graspt 
 
 Her livings, her advowsons, granges, farms, 
 
 VOL. VI. D
 
 34 BECKET. act i. 
 
 And goodly acres — we will make her whole ; 
 Not one rood lost. And for these Royal customs, 
 These ancient Royal customs — they a?-e Royal, 
 Not of the Church — and let them be anathema, 
 And all that speak for them anathema. 
 
 Herbert. 
 Thomas, thou art moved too much. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 O Herbert, here 
 
 I gash myself asunder from the King, 
 
 'I'ho' leaving each, a wound ; mine own, a grief 
 
 To show the scar for ever — his, a hate 
 
 Not ever to be heal'd. 
 
 Efiter Rosamund de Clifford, flying from Sir Regi- 
 nald FiTZURSE. Drops her veil. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Rosamund de Clifford ! 
 
 Rosamund. 
 Save me, father, hide me — they follow me — and I 
 must not be known. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Pass in with Herbert there. 
 
 \_Exeunt Rosamund and Herbert by side door.
 
 SCENE I. BECKET. 35 
 
 Enter Fitzurse, 
 
 FiTZURSE. 
 
 The Archbishop ! 
 
 Becket. 
 Ay ! what wouldst thou, Reginald ? 
 
 Fitzurse. 
 Why — why, my lord, I foUow'd — foUow'd one 
 
 Becket. 
 And then what follows ? Let me follow thee. 
 
 Fitzurse. 
 It much imports me I should know her name. 
 
 Becket. 
 What her? 
 
 Fitzurse. 
 The woman that I follow'd hither. 
 
 Becket. 
 Perhaps it may import her all as much 
 Not to be known. 
 
 Fitzurse. 
 And what care I for that ? 
 Come, come, my lord Archbishop ; I saw that door 
 Close even now upon the woman.
 
 36 BECKET. act. i. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Well? 
 
 FiTZURSE {making for the door). 
 Nay, let me pass, my lord, for I must know. 
 
 Becket. 
 Back, man ! 
 
 FiTZURSE. 
 
 Then tell me who and what she is. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Art thou so sure thou foUowedst anything? 
 Go home, and sleep thy wine off, for thine eyes 
 Glare stupid-wild with wine. 
 
 FiTZURSE {making to the door). 
 
 I must and will. 
 I care not for thy new archbishoprick. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Back, man, I tell thee ! What ! 
 Shall I forget my new archbishoprick 
 And smite thee with my crozier on the skull? 
 'Fore God, I am a mightier man than thou.
 
 SCENE I. BECKET. 37 
 
 FiTZURSE. 
 
 It well befits thy new archbishoprick 
 
 To take the vagabond woman of the street 
 
 Into thine arms ! 
 
 Becket. 
 
 drunken ribaldry ! 
 Out, beast ! out, bear ! 
 
 FiTZURSE. 
 
 I shall remember this. 
 
 Becket. 
 Do, and begone ! {^Exit Fitzurse. 
 
 [ Going to the door, sees De Tracy. 
 Tracy, what dost thou here ? 
 
 De Tracy. 
 My lord, I foUow'd Reginald Fitzurse. 
 
 Becket. 
 Follow him out ! 
 
 De Tracy. 
 
 1 shall remember this 
 Discourtesy. \_Extt.
 
 38 BECKET. act i. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Do. These be those baron-brutes 
 That havock'd all the land in Stephen's day. 
 Rosamund de CUfford. 
 
 Re-enter Rosamund and Herbert. 
 
 Rosamund. 
 Here am I. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Why here? 
 
 We gave thee to the charge of John of Salisbury, 
 
 To pass thee to thy secret bower to-morrow. 
 
 Wast thou not told to keep thyself from sight ? 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 Poor bird of passage ! so I was ; but, father, 
 They say that you are wise in winged things, 
 And know the ways of Nature. Bar the bird 
 From following the fled summer — a chink — he's out, 
 Gone ! And there stole into the city a breath 
 Full of the meadows, and it minded me 
 Of the sweet woods of Clifford, and the walks 
 Where I could move at pleasure, and I thought 
 Lo ! I must out or die.
 
 SCENE I. BECKET. 39 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Or out and die. 
 And what hast thou to do with this Fitzurse ? 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 Nothing. He sued my hand. I shook at him. 
 He found me once alone. Nay — nay — I cannot 
 Tell you : my father drove him and his friends, 
 De Tracy and De Brito, from our castle. 
 I was but fourteen and an April then. 
 I heard him swear revenge. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Why will you court it 
 By self-exposure ? flutter out at night ? 
 Make it so hard to save a moth from the fire ? 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 I have saved many of 'em. You catch 'em, so, 
 Softly, and fling them out to the free air. 
 They burn themselves within-door. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Our good John 
 Must speed you to your bower at once. The child 
 Is there already.
 
 40 BECKET. act i. 
 
 Rosamund. 
 Yes — the child — the child — 
 O rare, a whole long day of open field. 
 
 Becket. 
 Ay, but you go disguised. 
 
 RosAivruND, 
 
 O rare again ! 
 We'll baffle them, I warrant. What shall it be ? 
 I'll go as a nun. 
 
 Becket. 
 No. 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 What, not good enough 
 Even to play at nun? 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Dan John with a nun, 
 That Map, and these new railers at the Church 
 May plaister his clean name with scurrilous rhymes ! 
 No! 
 
 Go like a monk, cowling and clouding up 
 That fatal star, thy Beauty, from the squint 
 Of lust and glare of malice. Good night ! good night !
 
 SCENE I. BECKET. 41 
 
 Rosamund, 
 
 Father, I am so tender to all hardness ! 
 Nay, father, first thy blessing. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Wedded? 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 Father ! 
 
 Becket. 
 Well, well ! I ask no more. Heaven bless thee ! hence ! 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 O, holy father, when thou seest him next 
 Commend me to thy friend. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 What friend? 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 The King. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Herbert, take out a score of armed men 
 To guard this bird of passage to her cage ; 
 And watch Fitzurse, and if he follow thee, 
 Make him thy prisoner. I am Chancellor yet. 
 
 \_Exeunt Herbert and Rosamund.
 
 4« BECKET. ACT i. 
 
 Poor soul ! poor soul ! 
 
 My friend, the King ! . . . O thou Great Seal of England, 
 
 Given me by my dear friend the King of England — 
 
 We long have wrought together, thou and I — 
 
 Now must I send thee as a common friend 
 
 To tell the King, my friend, I am against him. 
 
 We are friends no more : he will say that, not 1. 
 
 The worldly bond between us is dissolved, 
 
 Not yet the love : can I be under him 
 
 As Chancellor? as Archbishop over him? 
 
 Go therefore like a friend slighted by one 
 
 That hath climb'd up to nobler company. 
 
 Not slighted — all but moan'd for : thou must go. 
 
 I have not dishonour'd thee — I trust I have not ; 
 
 Not mangled justice. May the hand that next 
 
 Inherits thee be but as true to thee 
 
 As mine hath been ! O, my dear friend, the King ! 
 
 brother ! — I may come to martyrdom. 
 
 1 am martyr in myself already. — Herbert ! 
 
 Herbert {r-e- entering). 
 My lord, the town is quiet, and the moon 
 Divides the whole long street with light and shade. 
 No footfall — no Fitzurse. We have seen her home. 
 
 Becket. 
 The hog hath tumbled himself into some corner,
 
 SCENE I. BECKET. 43 
 
 Some ditch, to snore away his drunkenness 
 Into the sober headache, — Nature's moral 
 Against excess. Let the Great Seal be sent 
 Back to the King to-morrow. 
 
 Herbert. 
 
 Must that be ? 
 The King may rend the bearer limb from limb. 
 Think on it again. 
 
 Becket. 
 Against the moral excess 
 No physical ache, but failure it may be 
 Of all we aim'd at. John of Salisbury 
 Hath often laid a cold hand on my heats, 
 And Herbert hath rebuked me even now. 
 I will be wise and wary, not the soldier 
 As Foliot swears it. — John, and out of breath ! 
 
 Enter John of Salisbury. 
 
 John of Salisbury. 
 
 Thomas, thou wast not happy taking charge 
 Of this wild Rosamund to please the King, 
 Nor am I happy having charge of her — 
 The included Danae has escaped again 
 Her tower, and her Acrisius — where to seek? 
 I have been about the city.
 
 44 BECKET. ACT I. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Thou wilt find her 
 Back in her lodging. Go with her — at once — 
 To-night — my men will guard you to the gates. 
 Be sweet to her, she has many enemies. 
 Send the Great Seal by daybreak. Both, good night ! 
 
 Scene II. — Street in Northampton leading to the Castle. 
 Eleanor's Retainers and Becket's Retainers 
 fighting. Enter Eleanor and Becket from 
 opposite streets. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Peace, fools ! 
 
 Becket. 
 Peace, friends ! what idle brawl is this ? 
 
 Retainer of Becket. 
 
 They said — her Grace's people — thou wast found — 
 Liars ! I shame to quote 'em — caught, my lord. 
 With a wanton in thy lodging — Hell requite 'em ! 
 
 Retainer of Eleanor. 
 
 My liege, the Lord Fitzurse reported this 
 In passing to the Castle even now.
 
 SCENE 11. BECKET. 45 
 
 Retainer of Becket. 
 And then they mock'd us and we fell upon 'em, 
 For we would live and die for thee, my lord. 
 However kings and queens may frown on thee. 
 
 Becket to his Retainers. 
 Go, go — no more of this ! 
 
 Eleanor to her Retainers. 
 Away ! — {^Exeunt Retainers) Fitzurse— — 
 
 Becket. 
 Nay, let him be. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 No, no, my Lord Archbishop, 
 'Tis known you are midwinter to all women. 
 But often in your chancellorship you served 
 The folUes of the King. 
 
 Becket. 
 No, not these follies ! 
 
 Eleanor. 
 My lord, Fitzurse beheld her in your lodging. 
 
 Becket. 
 Whom?
 
 46 BECKET. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Well — you know — the minion, Rosamund. 
 
 Becket. 
 He had good eyes ! 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Then hidden in the street 
 He watch'd her pass with John of Salisbury 
 And heard her cry ' Where is this bower of mine ? ' 
 
 Becket. 
 Good ears too ! 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 You are going to the Castle, 
 Will you subscribe the customs ? 
 
 Becket. 
 
 I leave that, 
 Knowing how much you reverence Holy Church, 
 My liege, to your conjecture. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 I and mine — 
 And many a baron holds along with me — 
 Are not so much at feud with Holy Church
 
 SCENE II. BECKET. 47 
 
 But we might take your side against the customs — 
 So that you grant me one shght favour. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 What? 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 A sight of that same chart which Henry gave you 
 With the red line — ' her bower.' 
 
 Becket. 
 
 And to what end ? 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 That Church must scorn herself whose fearful Priest 
 Sits winking at the license of a king, 
 Altho' we grant when kings are dangerous 
 The Church must play into the hands of kings ; 
 Look ! I would move this wanton from his sight 
 And take the Church's danger on myself. 
 
 Becket. 
 For which she should be duly grateful. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 True! 
 
 Tho' she that binds the bond, herself should see 
 
 That kings are faithful to their marriage vow.
 
 48 BECKET. ACT I. 
 
 Becket. 
 Ay, Madam, and queens also, 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 And queens also ! 
 What is your drift ? 
 
 Becket. 
 My drift is to the Castle, 
 Where I shall meet the Barons and my King. \_Extf. 
 
 De Broc, De Tracy, De Brito, De 
 MoRViLLE {passing). 
 
 Eleanor. 
 To the Castle? 
 
 De Broc. 
 
 Ay! 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Stir up the King, the Lords ! 
 Set all on fire against him ! 
 
 De Brito. 
 Ay, good Madam ! \_Exeunt 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Fool ! I will make thee hateful to thy King. 
 Churl ! I will have thee frighted into France, 
 And I shall hve to trample on thy grave.
 
 SCENE III. BECKET. 49 
 
 Scene III.— The Hajlin .Northampton Castle. 
 
 On one side of the stage the doors of an inner Council- 
 chatnber, half-open. At the bottom, the great 
 doors of the Hail. Roger Archbishop of York, 
 FoLiOT Bishop of London, Hilary of Chiches- 
 ter, Bishop of Hereford, Richard de Hastings 
 (^Grand Prior of Templars), Philip de Elee- 
 MOSYNA {the Pope's Almoner'), and others. De 
 Broc, Fitzurse, De Brito, De Morville, De 
 Tracy, and other Barons assembled — a table 
 before them. John of Oxford, President of 
 the Council. 
 
 Enter Becket and Herbert of Bosham. 
 
 Becket. 
 Where is the King? 
 
 Roger of York, 
 
 Gone hawking on the Nene, 
 His heart so gall'd with thine ingratitude, 
 He will not see thy face till thou hast sign'd 
 These ancient laws and customs of the realm. 
 Thy sending back the Great Seal madden'd him, 
 He all but pluck'd the bearer's eyes away. 
 Take heed, lest he destroy thee utterly. 
 
 VOL. VI. E
 
 50 BECKET. ACT i. 
 
 Becket. 
 Then shalt thou step into my place and sign. 
 
 Roger of York. 
 
 Didst thou not promise Henry to obey 
 These ancient laws and customs of the realm ? 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Saving the honour of my order — ay. 
 
 Customs, traditions, — clouds that come and go ; 
 
 The customs of the Church are Peter's rock. 
 
 Roger of York. 
 
 Saving thine order ! But King Henry sware 
 That, saving his King's kingship, he would grant thee 
 The crown itself Saving thine order, Thomas, 
 Is black and white at once, and comes to nought. 
 O bolster'd up with stubbornness and pride. 
 Wilt thou destroy the Church in fighting for it, 
 And bring us all to shame ? 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Roger of York, 
 When I and thou were youths in Theobald's house, 
 Twice did thy malice and thy calumnies
 
 SCENE III. BECKET. 51 
 
 Exile me from the face of Theobald. 
 Now I am Canterbury and thou art York. 
 
 Roger of York. 
 
 And is not York the peer of Canterbury ? 
 Did not great Gregory bid St. Austin here 
 Found two archbishopricks, London and York? 
 
 Becket. 
 
 What came of that ? The first archbishop fled, 
 And York lay barren for a hundred years. 
 Why, by this rule, Foliot may claim the pall 
 For London too. 
 
 Foliot. 
 
 And with good reason too, 
 For London had a temple and a priest 
 When Canterbury hardly bore a name. 
 
 Becket, 
 
 The pagan temple of a pagan Rome ! 
 
 The heathen priesthood of a heathen creed ! 
 
 Thou goest beyond thyself in petulancy ! 
 
 Who made thee London? Who, but Canterbury? 
 
 John of Oxford. 
 Peace, peace, my lords ! these customs are no longer
 
 5* BECKET. ACT I, 
 
 As Canterbury calls them, wandering clouds, 
 But by the King's command are written down. 
 And by the King's command I, John of Oxford, 
 The President of this Council, read them. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Read ! 
 
 John of Oxford {reads.) 
 
 All causes of advowsons and presentations, whether 
 between laymen or clerics, shall be tried in the King's 
 court.' 
 
 Becket. 
 
 But that I cannot sign : for that would drag 
 The cleric before the civil judgment-seat, 
 And on a matter wholly spiritual. 
 
 John of Oxford. 
 
 'If any cleric be accused of felony, the Church 
 shall not protect him ; but he shall answer to the sum- 
 mons of the King's court to be tried therein.' 
 
 Becket. 
 And that I cannot sign. 
 Is not the Church the visible Lord on earth ? 
 Shall hands that do create the Lord be bound 
 Behind the back like laymen-criminals ? 
 The Lord be judged again by Pilate ? No !
 
 SCENE III. BECKET. 
 
 53 
 
 John of Oxford. 
 
 'When a bishoprick falls vacant, the King, till 
 another be appointed, shall receive the revenues 
 thereof.' 
 
 Becket. 
 
 And that I cannot sign. Is the King's treasury 
 A fit place for the monies of the Church, 
 That be the patrimony of the poor ? 
 
 John of Oxford. 
 
 'And when the vacancy is to be filled up, the King 
 shall summon the chapter of that church to court, and 
 the election shall be made in the Chapel Royal, with 
 the consent of our lord the King, and by the advice 
 of his Government.' 
 
 Becket. 
 
 And that I cannot sign : for that would make 
 Our island-Church a schism from Christendom, 
 And weight down all free choice beneath the throne. 
 
 FOLIOT. 
 
 And was thine own election so canonical. 
 Good father? 
 
 Becket. 
 
 If it were not, Gilbert Foliot,
 
 54 BECKET. ACT I. 
 
 I mean to cross the sea to France, and lay 
 My crozier in the Holy Father's hands, 
 And bid him re-create me, Gilbert Foliot. 
 
 FOLIOT. 
 
 Nay ; by another of these customs thou 
 Wilt not be suffer'd so to cross the seas 
 Without the license of our lord the King. 
 
 Becket. 
 That, too, I cannot sign. 
 
 De Broc, De Brito, De Tracy, Fitzurse, De 
 MoRViLLE, start up — a dash of swords. 
 
 Sign and obey ! 
 
 Becket. 
 
 My lords, is this a combat or a council ? 
 Are ye my masters, or my lord the King ? 
 Ye make this clashing for no love o' the customs 
 Or constitutions, or whate'er ye call them, 
 But that there be among you those that hold 
 Lands reft from Canterbury. 
 
 De Broc. 
 
 And mean to keep them. 
 In spite of thee !
 
 SCENE III. BECKET. 55 
 
 Lords {shouting). 
 Sign, and obey the crown ! 
 
 Becket. 
 
 The crown ? Shall I do less for Canterbury 
 
 Than Henry for the crown ? King Stephen gave 
 
 Many of the crown lands to those that helpt him ; 
 
 So did Matilda, the King's mother. Mark, 
 
 When Henry came into his own again, 
 
 Then he took back not only Stephen's gifts, 
 
 But his own mother's, lest the crown should be 
 
 Shorn of ancestral splendour. This did Henry. 
 
 Shall I do less for mine own Canterbury? 
 
 And thou, De Broc, that boldest Saltwood Castle 
 
 De Broc. 
 And mean to hold it, or 
 
 Becket. 
 
 To have my life. 
 
 De Broc. 
 
 The King is quick to anger ; if thou anger him, 
 We wait but the King's word to strike thee dead.
 
 56 BECKET. ACT i. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Strike, and I die the death of martyrdom ; 
 Strike, and ye set these customs by my death 
 Ringing their own death-knell thro' all the realm. 
 
 Herbert. 
 
 And I can tell you, lords, ye are all as like 
 To lodge a fear in Thomas Becket's heart 
 As find a hare's form in a lion's cave. 
 
 John of Oxford. 
 Ay, sheathe your swords, ye will displease the King. 
 
 De Broc. 
 
 Why down then thou ! but an he come to Saltwood, 
 By God's death, thou shalt stick him like a calf ! 
 
 \Sheathing his sword. 
 
 Hilary. 
 
 O my good lord, I do entreat thee — sign. 
 Save the King's honour here before his barons. 
 He hath sworn that thou shouldst sign, and now but 
 
 shuns 
 The semblance of defeat ; I have heard him say 
 He means no more ; so if thou sign, my lord, 
 That were but as the shadow of an assent.
 
 SCENE III. BECKET. 57 
 
 Becket. 
 'Twould seem too like the substance, if I sign'd. 
 
 Philip de Eleemosyna. 
 My lord, thine ear ! I have the ear of the Pope. 
 As thou hast honour for the Pope our master, 
 Have pity on him, sorely prest upon 
 By the fierce Emperor and his Antipope. 
 Thou knowest he was forced to fly to France ; 
 He pray'd me to pray thee to pacify 
 Thy King ; for if thou go against thy King, 
 Then must he likewise go against thy King, 
 And then thy King might join the Antipope, 
 And that would shake the Papacy as it stands. 
 Besides, thy King swore to our cardinals 
 He meant no harm nor damage to the Church. 
 Smoothe thou his pride — thy signing is but form ; 
 Nay, and should harm come of it, it is the Pope 
 Will be to blame — not thou. Over and over 
 He told me thou shouldst pacify the King, 
 Lest there be battle between Heaven and Earth, 
 And Earth should get the better — for the time. 
 Cannot the Pope absolve thee if thou sign ? 
 
 Becket. 
 Have I the orders of the Holy Father ?
 
 58 BECKET. act i. 
 
 Philip de Eleemosyna. 
 
 Orders, my lord — why, no ; for what am I ? 
 
 The secret whisper of the Holy Father. 
 
 Thou, that hast been a statesman, couldst thou always 
 
 Blurt thy free mind to the air? 
 
 Becket. 
 If Rome be feeble, then should I be firm. 
 
 Philip. 
 
 Take it not that way — balk not the Pope's will. 
 
 When he hath shaken off the Emperor, 
 
 He heads the Church against the King with thee. 
 
 Richard de Hastings {kneeling). 
 
 Becket, I am the oldest of the Templars ; 
 I knew thy father ; he would be mine age 
 Had he lived now ; think of me as thy father ! 
 Behold thy father kneeling to thee, Becket. 
 Submit ; I promise thee on my salvation 
 That thou wilt hear no more o' the customs. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 What! 
 Hath Henry told thee ? hast thou talk'd with him ?
 
 SCENE III. BECKET. 59 
 
 Another Templar {kneeling). 
 
 Father, I am the youngest of the Templars, 
 Look on me as I were thy bodily son, 
 For, like a son, I lift my hands to thee. 
 
 Philip. 
 
 Wilt thou hold out for ever, Thomas Becket ? 
 Dost thou not hear? 
 
 Becket (j-^^;; J'). 
 Why — there then — there — I sign, 
 And swear to obey the customs. 
 
 FOLIOT. 
 
 Is it thy will, 
 My lord Archbishop, that we too should sign ? 
 
 Becket. 
 
 O ay, by that canonical obedience 
 
 Thou still hast owed thy father, Gilbert Foliot. 
 
 FOLIOT. 
 
 Loyally and with good faith, my lord Archbishop ? 
 
 Becket. 
 O ay, with all that loyalty and good faith
 
 6o BECKET. 
 
 ACT L 
 
 Thou still hast shown thy primate, Gilbert Foliot. 
 
 [Becket draws apart with Herbert. 
 Herbert, Herbert, have I betray 'd the Church? 
 I'll have the paper back — blot out my name. 
 
 Herbert. 
 Too late, my lord : you see they are signing there. 
 
 Becket. 
 False to myself— it is the will of God 
 To break me, prove me nothing of myself ! 
 This Almoner hath tasted Henry's §old. 
 The cardinals have finger'd Henry's gold. 
 And Rome is venal ev'n to rottenness. 
 I see it, I see it. 
 
 I am no soldier, as he said — at least 
 No leader. Herbert, till I hear from the Pope 
 I will suspend myself from all my functions. 
 If fast and prayer, the lacerating scourge 
 
 Foliot {from the table). 
 My lord Archbishop, thou hast yet to seal. 
 
 Becket. 
 First, Foliot, let me see what I have sign'd. 
 
 \_Goes to the table. 
 What, this ! and this ! — what ! new and old together !
 
 SCENE III. BECKET. 6i 
 
 Seal? If a seraph shouted from the sun, 
 
 And bad me seal against the rights of the Church, 
 
 I would anathematise him. I will not seal. 
 
 \Exit with Herbert. 
 
 Enter King Henry. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 Where's Thomas ? hath he sign'd ? show me the papers ! 
 Sign'd and not seal'd ! How's that? 
 
 John of Oxford. 
 
 He would not seal. 
 And when he sign'd, his face was stormy-red — 
 Shame, wrath, I know not what. He sat down there 
 And dropt it in his hands, and then a paleness, 
 Like the wan twilight after sunset, crept 
 Up even to the tonsure, and he groan'd, 
 * False to myself ! It is the will of God ! ' 
 
 Henry. 
 God's will be what it will, the man shall seal. 
 Or I will seal his doom. My burgher's son — 
 Nay, if I cannot break him as the prelate, 
 I'll crush him as the subject. Send for him back. 
 
 \Sits on his throne. 
 Barons and bishops of our realm of England, 
 After the nineteen winters of King Stephen —
 
 62 BECKET. ACT i. 
 
 A reign which was no reign, when none could sit 
 By his own hearth in peace ; when murder common 
 As nature's death, Uke Egypt's plague, had fiU'd 
 All things with blood ; when every doorway blush'd, 
 Dash'd red with that unhallow'd passover ; 
 When every baron ground his blade in blood ; 
 The household dough was kneaded up with blood ; 
 The millwheel turn'd in blood ; the wholesome plow 
 Lay rusting in the furrow's yellow weeds. 
 Till famine dwarft the race — I came, your King ! 
 Nor dwelt alone, like a soft lord of the East, 
 In mine own hall, and sucking thro' fools' ears 
 The flatteries of corruption — went abroad 
 Thro' all my counties, spied my people's ways ; 
 Yea, heard the churl against the baron — yea, 
 And did him justice ; sat in mine own courts 
 Judging my judges, that had found a King 
 Who ranged confusions, made the twilight day. 
 And struck a shape from out the vague, and law 
 From madness. And the event — our fallows till'd. 
 Much corn, repeopled towns, a realm again. 
 So far my course, albeit not glassy-smooth. 
 Had prosper'd in the main, but suddenly 
 Jarr'd on this rock. A cleric violated 
 The daughter of his host, and murder'd him. 
 Bishops — York, London, Chichester, Westminster — 
 Ye haled this tonsured devil into your courts ;
 
 SCENE III, BECKET. 63 
 
 But since your canon will not let you take 
 
 Life for a life, ye but degraded him 
 
 Where I had hang'd him. What doth hard murder care 
 
 For degradation ? and that made me muse, 
 
 Being bounden by my coronation oath 
 
 To do men justice. Look to it, your own selves ! 
 
 Say that a cleric murder'd an archbishop, 
 
 What could ye do ? Degrade, imprison him — 
 
 Not death for death. 
 
 John of Oxford. 
 
 But I, my liege, could swear. 
 To death for death. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 And, looking thro' my reign, 
 I found a hundred ghastly murders done 
 By men, the scum and offal of the Church ; 
 Then, glancing thro' the story of this realm, 
 I came on certain wholesome usages. 
 Lost in desuetude, of my grandsire's day. 
 Good royal customs — had them written fair 
 For John of Oxford here to read to you. 
 
 John of Oxford. 
 
 And I can easily swear to these as being 
 
 The King's will and God's will and justice ; yet 
 
 I could but read a part to-day, because
 
 64 BECKET. 
 
 FiTZURSE. 
 
 Because my lord of Canterbury— 
 
 De Tracy. 
 This lord of Canterbury 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Ay, 
 
 De Brito. 
 
 As is his wont 
 Too much of late whene'er your royal rights 
 Are mooted in our councils — 
 
 FiTZURSE. 
 
 — made an uproar. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 And Becket had my bosom on all this ; 
 
 If ever man by bonds of gratefulness — 
 
 I raised him from the puddle of the gutter, 
 
 I made him porcelain from the clay of the city — 
 
 Thought that I knew him, err'd thro' love of him, 
 
 Hoped, were he chosen archbishop, Church and 
 
 Crown, 
 Two sisters gliding in an equal dance, 
 Two rivers gently flowing side by side — 
 But no ! 
 The bird that moults sings the same song again,
 
 SCENE III. BECKET. 65 
 
 The snake that sloughs comes out a snake again. 
 Snake — ay, but he that lookt a fangless one, 
 Issues a venomous adder. 
 
 For he, when having dofft the Chancellor's robe — 
 Flung the Great Seal of England in my face — 
 Claim'd some of our crown lands for Canterbury — 
 My comrade, boon companion, my co-reveller, 
 The master of his master, the King's king — 
 God's eyes ! I had meant to make him all but king. 
 Chancellor-Archbishop, he might well have sway'd 
 All England under Henry, the young King, 
 When I was hence. What did the traitor say? 
 False to himself, but ten-fold false to me ! 
 The will of God — why, then it is my will — 
 Is he coming? 
 
 Messenger {entering) . 
 
 With a crowd of worshippers, 
 And holds his cross before him thro' the crowd, 
 As one that puts himself in sanctuary. 
 
 Henry. 
 His cross ! 
 
 Roger of York, 
 
 His cross ! I'll front him, cross to cross. 
 ^£xit Roger of York. 
 
 VOL. VI. F
 
 66 BECKET. act i. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 His cross ! it is the traitor that imputes 
 Treachery to his King ! 
 It is not safe for me to look upon him. 
 Away — with me ! 
 
 [ Goes in with his Barons to the Council Chamber, 
 the door of which is left open. 
 
 Enter Becket, holding his cross of silver before him. 
 The Bishops come round him. 
 
 Hereford. 
 
 The King will not abide thee with thy cross. 
 Permit me, ray good lord, to bear it for thee, 
 Being thy chaplain. 
 
 Becket. 
 No : it must protect me. 
 
 Herbert. 
 
 As once he bore the standard of the Angles, 
 So now he bears the standard of the angels. 
 
 FOLIOT. 
 
 I am the Dean of the province : let me bear it. 
 Make not thy King a traitorous murderer. 
 
 i
 
 scene iii. becket. 67 
 
 Becket. 
 Did not your barons draw their swords against me ? 
 
 E?ifer Roger of York, with his cross, 
 advancing to Becket. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Wherefore dost thou presume to bear thy cross, 
 Against the solemn ordinance from Rome, 
 Out of thy province ? 
 
 Roger of York. 
 
 Why dost thou presume, 
 Arm'd with thy cross, to come before the King? 
 If Canterbury bring his cross to court. 
 Let York bear his to mate with Canterbury. 
 
 FoLiOT {^seizing hold of Becket's cross) . 
 
 Nay, nay, my lord, thou must not brave the King. 
 Nay, let me have it. I will have it ! 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Away ! 
 
 \_FH?iging him off. 
 
 Foliot. 
 
 He fasts, they say, this mitred-Hercules !
 
 68 BECKET. act i. 
 
 He fast ! is that an arm of fast ? My lord, 
 Hadst thou not sign'd, I had gone along with thee ; 
 But thou the shepherd hast betray'd the sheep, 
 And thou art perjured, and thou wilt not seal. 
 As Chancellor thou wast against the Church, 
 Now as Archbishop goest against the King ; 
 For, like a fool, thou knowst no middle way. 
 Ay, ay ! but art thou stronger than the king? 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Strong — not in mine own self, but Heaven ; true 
 To either function, holding it ; and thou 
 Fast, scourge thyself, and mortify thy flesh. 
 Not spirit — thou remainest Gilbert Foliot, 
 A worldly follower of the worldly strong. 
 I, bearing this great ensign, make it clear 
 Under what Prince I fight. 
 
 Foliot. 
 
 My lord of York, 
 Let us go in to the Council, where our bishops 
 And our great lords will sit in judgment on him. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Sons sit in judgment on their father ! — then 
 
 The spire of Holy Church may prick the graves —
 
 SCENE III. BECKET. 69 
 
 Her crypt among the stars. Sign? seal? I promised 
 The King to obey these customs, not yet written, 
 Saving mine order ; true too, that when written 
 I sign'd them — being a fool, as Foliot call'd me. 
 I hold not by my signing. Get ye hence, 
 Tell what I say to the King. 
 
 \_Exeunt Hereford, Foliot, and other 
 Bishops. 
 
 Roger of York. 
 
 The Church will hate thee. 
 
 {^Exit 
 Becket. 
 
 Serve my best friend and make him my worst foe ; 
 Fight for the Church, and set the Church against me ! 
 
 Herbert. 
 
 To be honest is to set all knaves against thee. 
 Ah ! Thomas, excommunicate them all ! 
 
 Hereford {re-entering). 
 
 I cannot brook the turmoil thou hast raised. 
 I would, my lord Thomas of Canterbury, 
 Thou wert plain Thomas and not Canterbury, 
 Or that thou wouldst deliver Canterbury 
 To our King's hands again, and be at peace.
 
 70 BECKET. act i. 
 
 Hilary {re-entering). 
 
 For hath not thine ambition set the Church 
 This day between the hammer and the anvil — 
 Fealty to the King, obedience to thyself? 
 
 Herbert. 
 What say the bishops? 
 
 Hilary. 
 
 Some have pleaded for him, 
 But the King rages — most are with the King ; 
 And some are reeds, that one time sway to the current. 
 And to the wind another. But we hold 
 Thou art forsworn ; and no forsworn Archbishop 
 Shall helm the Church. We therefore place ourselves 
 Under the shield and safeguard of the Pope, 
 And cite thee to appear before the Pope, 
 And answer thine accusers. . . . Art thou deaf? 
 
 Becket. 
 I hear you. \_Clash of arms. 
 
 Hilary. 
 
 Dost thou hear those others? 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Ayl
 
 SCENE III. BECKET. 71 
 
 Roger of York {re-e?itering). 
 
 The King's * God's eyes ! ' come now so thick and fast, 
 
 We fear that he may reave thee of thine ovm. 
 
 Come on, come on ! it is not fit for us 
 
 To see the proud Archbishop mutilated. 
 
 Say that he blind thee and tear out thy tongue. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 So be it. He begins at top with me : 
 They crucified St. Peter downward. 
 
 Roger of York. 
 
 Nay, 
 But for their sake who stagger betwixt thine 
 Appeal, and Henry's anger, yield. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Hence, Satan ! 
 
 [^.r// Roger of York. 
 
 FiTZURSE (re-entering) . 
 
 My lord, the King demands three hundred marks, 
 Due from his castles of Berkhamstead and Eye 
 When thou thereof wast warden.
 
 72 SECKET. ACT I. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Tell the King 
 
 I spent thrice that in fortifying his castles. 
 
 De Tracy {re-entering). 
 
 My lord, the King demands seven hundred marks, 
 Lent at the siege of Thoulouse by the Kin^. 
 
 Becket. 
 I led seven hundred knights and fought his wars. 
 
 De Brito {re-entering). 
 
 My lord, the King demands five hundred marks. 
 Advanced thee at his instance by the Jews, 
 For which the King was bound security. 
 
 Becket. 
 I thought it was a gift ; I thought it was a gift. 
 
 Enter Lord Leicester {followed by Barons and 
 Bishops). 
 
 My lord, I come unwillingly. The King 
 Demands a strict account of all those revenues 
 From all the vacant sees and abbacies, 
 Which came into thy hands when Chancellor.
 
 scene iii. becket. 73 
 
 Becket. 
 How much might that amount to, my lord Leicester ? 
 
 Leicester. 
 Some thirty — forty thousand silver marks. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Are these your customs ? O my good lord Leicester, 
 
 The King and I were brothers. All I had 
 
 I lavish'd for the glory of the King ; 
 
 I shone from him, for him, his glory, his 
 
 Reflection : now the glory of the Church 
 
 Hath swallow'd up the glory of the King ; 
 
 I am his no more, but hers. Grant me one day 
 
 To ponder these demands. 
 
 Leicester. 
 
 Hear first thy sentence ! 
 The King and all his lords 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Son, first hear me! 
 
 Leicester. 
 
 Nay, nay, canst thou, that boldest thine estates 
 In fee and barony of the King, decline 
 The judgment of the King ?
 
 74 BECKET. act i. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 The King ! I hold 
 Nothing in fee and barony of the King. 
 Whatever the Church owns — she holds it ia 
 Free and perpetual alms, unsubject to 
 One earthly sceptre. 
 
 Leicester. 
 
 Nay, but hear thy judgment. 
 The King and all his barons 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Judgment ! Barons ! 
 Who but the bridegroom dares to judge the bride, 
 Or he the bridegroom may appoint? Not he 
 That is not of the house, but from the street 
 Stain'd with the mire thereof. 
 
 I had been so true 
 To Henry and mine office that the King 
 Would throne me in the great Archbishoprick : 
 And I, that knew mine own infirmity, 
 For the King's pleasure rather than God's cause 
 Took it upon me — err'd thro' love of him. 
 Now therefore God from me withdraws Himself, 
 And the King too.
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 BECKET, 75 
 
 What ! forty thousand marks ! 
 Why thou, the King, the Pope, the Saints, the world, 
 Know that when made Archbishop I was freed, 
 Before the Prince and chief Justiciary, 
 From every bond and debt and obhgation 
 Incurr'd as Chancellor. 
 
 Hear me, son. 
 
 As gold 
 
 Outvalues dross, light darkness, Abel Cain, 
 
 The soul the body, and the Church the Throne, 
 
 I charge thee, upon pain of mine anathema. 
 
 That thou obey, not me, but God in me, 
 
 Rather than Henry. I refuse to stand 
 
 By the King's censure, make my cry to the Pope, 
 
 By whom I will be judged ; refer myself. 
 
 The King, these customs, all the Church, to him. 
 
 And under his authority— I depart. S^Going. 
 
 [Leicester looks at him doubtingly. 
 
 Am I a prisoner ? 
 
 Leicester. 
 
 By St. Lazarus, no ! 
 I am confounded by thee. Go in peace. 
 
 De Broc. 
 
 In peace now— but after. Take that for earnest. 
 
 {Flings a bone at him from the rushes.
 
 76 BECKET. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 De Brito, Fitzurse, De Tracy, and others 
 {flinging wisps of rushes) . 
 
 Ay, go in peace, caitiff, caitiff ! And that too, per- 
 jured prelate — and that, turncoat shaveUng ! There, 
 there, there ! traitor, traitor, traitor ! 
 
 Becket. 
 Mannerless wolves ! [^Turning and facing them. 
 
 Herbert. 
 
 Enough, my lord, enough ! 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Barons of England and of Normandy, 
 When what ye shake at doth but seem to fly. 
 True test of coward, ye follow with a yell. 
 But I that threw the mightiest knight of France, 
 Sir Engelram de Trie, 
 
 Herbert. 
 
 Enough, my lord. 
 
 Becket. 
 More than enough. I play the fool again.
 
 SCENE IV. BECKET. 77 
 
 Enter Herald. 
 
 Herald. 
 
 The King commands you, upon pain of death, 
 That none should wrong or injure your Archbishop. 
 
 FOLIOT. 
 
 Deal gently with the young man Absalom, 
 
 \_Great doors of the Hall at the back open, and 
 discover a crowd. They shout : 
 
 Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord ! 
 
 Scene IV. — Refectory of the Monastery at Northampton. 
 A Banquet on the Tables. 
 
 Enter Becket. Becket's Retainers. 
 
 1ST Retainer. 
 Do thou speak first. 
 
 2ND Retainer. 
 
 Nay, thou ! Nay, thou ! Hast not thou drawn the 
 short straw? 
 
 1ST Retainer. 
 
 My lord Archbishop, wilt thou permit us
 
 78 BECKET. ACT i. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 To speak without stammering and like a free man ? 
 Ay. 
 
 1ST Retainer. 
 
 My lord, permit us then to leave thy service. 
 
 Becket. 
 When? 
 
 1ST Retainer. 
 Now. 
 
 Becket. 
 To-night? 
 
 1ST Retainer. 
 
 To-night, my lord. 
 
 Becket. 
 And why ? 
 
 1ST Retainer. 
 
 My lord, we leave thee not without tears. 
 
 Becket. 
 Tears? Why not stay with me then? 
 
 1ST Retainer. 
 
 My lord, we cannot yield thee an answer altogether 
 to thy satisfaction.
 
 scene iv. becket. 79 
 
 Becket. 
 
 I warrant you, or your own either. Shall I find 
 you one ? The King hath frowned upon me. 
 
 1ST Retainer. 
 That is not altogether our answer, my lord. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 No ; yet all but all. Go, go ! Ye have eaten of 
 my dish and drunken of my cup for a dozen years. 
 
 1ST Retainer. 
 
 And so we have. We mean thee no wrong. Wilt 
 thou not say, 'God bless you,' ere we go-? 
 
 Becket. 
 
 God bless you all ! God redden your pale blood ! 
 But mine is human-red ; and when ye shall hear it 
 is poured out upon earth, and see it mounting to 
 Heaven, my God bless you, that seems sweet to you 
 now, will blast and blind you like a curse. 
 
 1ST Retainer. 
 
 We hope not, my lord. Our humblest thanks for 
 your blessing. Farewell ! \_Exeunt Retainers.
 
 «o BECKET. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Farewell, friends ! farewell, swallows ! I wrong the 
 bird ; she leaves only the nest she built, they leave the 
 builder. Why? Am I to be murdered to-night ? 
 
 \_Knocking at the door. 
 
 Attendant. 
 
 Here is a missive left at the gate by one from the 
 castle. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Cornwall's hand or Leicester's : they write marvel- 
 lously alike. \_Reading. 
 
 ' Fly at once to France, to King Louis of France : 
 there be those about our King who would have thy 
 blood.' 
 
 Was not my lord of Leicester bidden to our supper ? 
 
 Attendant. 
 
 Ay, my lord, and divers other earls and barons. 
 But the hour is past, and our brother, Master Cook, 
 he makes moan that all be a-getting cold. 
 
 Becket. 
 And I make my moan along with him. Cold after
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 BECKET. %\ 
 
 warm, winter after summer, and the golden leaves, 
 these earls and barons, that clung to me, frosted off 
 me by the first cold frown of the King. Cold, but 
 look how the table steams, like a heathen altar; nay, 
 like the altar at Jerusalem. Shall God's good gifts 
 be wasted? None of them here ! Call in the poor 
 from the streets, and let them feast. 
 
 Herbert. 
 That is the parable of our blessed Lord. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 And why should not the parable of our blessed 
 Lord be acted again ? Call in the poor ! The Church 
 is ever at variance with the kings, and ever at one with 
 the poor. I marked a group of lazars in the mar- 
 ket-place—half-rag, half- sore— beggars, poor rogues 
 (Heaven bless 'em) who never saw nor dreamed of 
 such a banquet. I will amaze them. Call them in, 
 I say. They shall henceforward be my earls and 
 barons — our lords and masters in Christ Jesus. 
 
 S^Exit Herbert. 
 
 If the King hold his purpose, I am myself a beg- 
 gar. Forty thousand marks ! forty thousand devils 
 — and these craven bishops ! 
 
 VOL. VI. 
 
 G
 
 82 BECKET. ACT I. 
 
 A Poor Man {entering) with his dog. 
 My lord Archbishop, may I come in with my poor 
 friend, my dog? The King's verdurer caught him 
 a-hunting in the forest, and cut off his paws. The 
 dog followed his calling, my lord. I ha' carried him 
 ever so many miles in my arms, and he licks my face 
 and moans and cries out against the King. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Better thy dog than thee. The King's courts 
 would use thee worse than thy dog — they are too 
 bloody. Were the Church king, it would be other- 
 wise. Poor beast ! poor beast ! set him down. I will 
 bind up his wounds with my napkin. Give him a 
 bone, give him a bone ! Who misuses a dog would 
 misuse a child — they cannot speak for themselves. 
 Past help ! his paws are past help. God help him ! 
 
 Enter the Beggars {and seat themselves at the Tables). 
 Becket and Herbert wait upon them. 
 
 1ST Beggar. 
 Swine, sheep, ox — here's a French supper. When 
 thieves fall out, honest men 
 
 2ND Beggar. 
 Is the Archbishop a thief who gives thee thy supper?
 
 SCENE IV. BECKET. 83 
 
 1ST Beggar. 
 
 Well, then, how does it go? When honest men 
 foil out, thieves — no, it can't be that. 
 
 2ND Beggar. 
 
 Who stole the widow's one sitting hen o' Sunday, 
 when she was at mass ? 
 
 1ST Beggar. 
 
 Come, come ! thou hadst thy share on her. Sitting 
 hen ! Our Lord Becket's our great sitting-hen cock, 
 and we shouldn't ha' been sitting here if the barons 
 and bishops hadn't been a-sitting on the Archbishop. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Ay, the princes sat in judgment against me, and 
 the Lord hath prepared your table — Sederunt prmcipes^ 
 ederunt paupereSs 
 
 A Voice. 
 Becket, beware of the knife ! 
 
 Becket, 
 Who spoke ? 
 
 3RD Beggar. 
 
 Nobody, my lord. What's that, my lord ?
 
 84 BECKET. ACT i. 
 
 Venison. 
 Venison ? 
 
 Becket. 
 3RD Beggar. 
 
 Becket. 
 Buck ; deer, as you call it. 
 
 3RD Beggar. 
 
 King's meat ! By the Lord, won't we pray for your 
 lordship ! 
 
 Becket. 
 
 And, my children, your prayers will do more for 
 me in the day of peril that dawns darkly and drearily 
 over the house of God — yea, and in the day of judg- 
 ment also, than the swords of the craven sycophants 
 would have done had they remained true to me whose 
 bread they have partaken. I must leave you to your 
 banquet. Feed, feast, and be merry. Herbert, for 
 the sake of the Church itself, if not for my own, I 
 must fly to France to-night. Come with me. 
 
 {^Exit with Herbert. 
 
 3RD Beggar. 
 
 Here — all of you — my lord's health {they d?-ink). 
 Well — if that isn't goodly wine
 
 SCENE IV. BECKET. 85 
 
 1ST Beggar. 
 Then there isn't a goodly wench to sen'C him with 
 it : they were fighting for her to-day in the street. 
 
 3RD Beggar. 
 Peace ! 
 
 1ST Beggar. 
 The black sheep baaed to the miller's ewe-lamb, 
 
 The miller's away for to-night. 
 Black sheep, quoth she, too black a sin for me. 
 
 And what said the black sheep, my masters ? 
 
 We can make a black sin white. 
 
 3RD Beggar. 
 
 Peace ! 
 
 1ST Beggar. 
 
 *Ewe lamb, ewe lamb, I am here by the dam.' 
 But the miller came home that night. 
 
 And so dusted his back with the meal in his sack, 
 That he made the black sheep white. 
 
 3RD Beggar. 
 Be we not of the family ? be we not a-supping with 
 the head of the family? be we not in my lord's own 
 refractory? Out from among us ; thou art our black 
 sheep.
 
 86 BECKET. act i. 
 
 Enter the four Knights. 
 
 FiTZURSE, 
 
 Sheep, said he ? And sheep without the shepherd, 
 too. Where is my lord Archbishop ? Thou the lustiest 
 and lousiest of this Cain's brotherhood, answer. 
 
 3RD Beggar, 
 
 With Cain's answer, my lord. Am I his keeper? 
 Thou shouldst call him Cain, not me. 
 
 FiTZURSE. 
 
 So I do, for he would murder his brother the State. 
 
 3RD Beggar {rising and advancitig) . 
 
 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
 
 SCENE IV. BECKET. 87 
 
 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. 
 
 FrrzuRSE. 
 Come, you filthy knaves, let us pass. 
 
 3RD Beggar. 
 
 Nay, my lord, let us pass. 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 God 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
 
 88 BECKET. act i. 
 
 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 mastei 
 i' Christ, my lord.
 
 scene iv. becket. 89 
 
 De Morville. 
 
 Faugh ! we shall all be poisoned. Let us go. 
 
 \They draw back, ^EGGk^s 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.
 
 90 BECKET. act i. 
 
 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 EngHsh 
 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. 
 
 1. Love that can shape or can shatter a life till the 
 
 life shall have fled ? 
 
 2. Nay, let us welcome him, Love that can lift up a 
 
 life from the dead. 
 91
 
 92 BECKET. ACT 11. 
 
 1. Keep him away from the lone little isle. Let us 
 
 be, let us be. 
 
 2. Nay, let him make it his own, let him reign in it — 
 
 he, it is he. 
 Love that is born of the deep coming up with the 
 sun from the sea. 
 
 Enter Henry and Rosamund. 
 
 Rosamund. 
 Be friends mth him again — I do beseech thee. 
 
 Henry. 
 With Becket? I have but one hour with thee — 
 Sceptre and crozier clashing, and the mitre 
 Grappling the crown — and when I flee from this 
 For a gasp of freer air, a breathing-while 
 To rest upon thy bosom and forget him — 
 Why thou, my bird, thou pipest Becket, Becket — 
 Yea, thou my golden dream of Love's own bower, 
 Must be the nightmare breaking on my peace 
 With ' Becket.' 
 
 Rosamund. 
 O my life's hfe, not to smile 
 Is all but death to me. My sun, no cloud ! 
 Let there not be one frown in this one hour. 
 Out of the many thine, let this be mine !
 
 SCENE I. BECKET. 93 
 
 Look rather thou all-royal as when first 
 I met thee. 
 
 Henry. 
 Where was that? 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 Forgetting that 
 Forgets me too. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 Nay, I remember it well. 
 There on the moors. 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 And in a narrow path. 
 A plover flew before thee. Then I saw 
 Thy high black steed among the flaming furze, 
 Like sudden night in the main glare of day. 
 And from that height something was said to me 
 I knew not what. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 I ask'd the way. 
 
 So I lost mine. 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 I think so. 
 
 Henry. 
 Thou wast too shamed to answer.
 
 94 BECKET. act ii. 
 
 Rosamund, 
 Too scared — so young ! 
 
 Henry, 
 
 The rosebud of my rose !— 
 Well, well, no more of him — I have sent his folk, 
 His kin, all his belongings, overseas ; 
 Age, orphans, and babe-breasting mothers— all 
 By hundreds to him— there to beg, starve, die — 
 So that the fool King Louis feed them not. 
 The man shall feel that I can strike him yet. 
 
 Rosamund. 
 Babes, orphans, mothers ! is that royal. Sire ? 
 
 Henry. 
 
 And I have been as royal with the Church. 
 He shelter'd in the Abbey of Pontigny. 
 There wore his time studying the canon law 
 To work it against me. But since he cursed 
 My friends at Veselay, I have let them know, 
 That if they keep him longer as their guest, 
 I scatter all their cowls to all the hells. 
 
 Rosamund. 
 And is that altogether royal?
 
 SCENE I. BECKET. 95 
 
 Henry. 
 
 Traitress ! 
 
 Rosamund, 
 A faithful traitress to thy royal fame. 
 
 Henry. 
 Fame ! what care I for fame? Spite, ignorance, envy, 
 Yea, honesty too, paint her what way they will. 
 Fame of to-day is infamy to-morrow ; 
 Infamy of to-day is fame to-morrow ; 
 And round and round again. What matters ? Royal— 
 I mean to leave the royalty of my crown 
 Unlessen'd to mine heirs. 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 Still — thy fame too : 
 I say that should be royal. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 And I say, 
 I care not for thy saying. 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 And I say, 
 I care not for thy saying. A greater King 
 Than thou art. Love, who cares not for the word. 
 Makes 'care not'— care. There have I spoken true?
 
 96 BECKET. act il. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 Care dwell with me for ever, when I cease 
 To care for thee as ever ! 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 No need ! no need ! . . . 
 There is a bench. Come, wilt thou sit? , . . My 
 
 bank 
 Of wild-flowers \}ie sits\ . At thy feet ! 
 
 [^S/ie sits at his feet. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 I bad them clear 
 A royal pleasaunce for thee, in the wood, 
 Not leave these countryfolk at court. 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 I brought them 
 In from the wood, and set them here. I love them 
 More than the garden flowers, that seem at most 
 Sweet guests, or foreign cousins, not half speaking 
 The language of the land. I love the^n too, 
 Yes. But, my liege, I am sure, of all the roses — 
 Shame fall on those who gave it a dog's name — 
 This wild one {picking a briar-rose) — nay, I shall not 
 
 prick myself — 
 Is sweetest. Do but smell !
 
 SCENE I. BECKET. 97 
 
 Henry. 
 
 Thou rose of the world ! 
 
 Thou rose of all the roses ! 
 
 \_Muttering. 
 
 I am not worthy of her — this beast-body 
 That God has plunged my soul in — I, that taking 
 The Fiend's advantage of a throne, so long 
 Have wander'd among women;,— a foul stream 
 Thro' fever-breeding levels, — at her side, 
 Among these happy dales, run clearer, drop 
 The mud I carried, like yon brook, and glass 
 The faithful face of heaven — 
 
 \Looking at her, and unconsciously aloud, 
 — thine ! thine 1 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 I know it. 
 
 Henry ( m u tiering) . 
 Not hers ! We have but one bond, her hate of Becket. 
 
 RosARiuND {Jialf hearing) . 
 Nay ! nay ! what art thou muttering ? / hate Becket ? 
 
 Henry {muttering^. 
 
 A sane and natural loathing for a soul 
 Purer, and truer and nobler than herself; 
 And mine a bitterer illegitimate hate, 
 A bastard hate born of a former love. 
 
 VOL. VI. H
 
 98 BECKET. act ii. 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 My fault to name him ! O let the hand of one 
 
 To whom thy voice is all her music, stay it 
 
 But for a breath. {_Puts her hand before his lips. 
 
 Speak only of thy love. 
 Why there— like some loud beggar at thy gate— 
 The happy boldness of this hand hath won it 
 Love's alms, thy kiss {looking at her /(^w^)— Sacred ! 
 I'll kiss it too. {^Kissing it. 
 
 There ! wherefore dost thou so peruse it? Nay, 
 There may be crosses in my Hne of life. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 Not half her hand— no hand to mate with her, 
 If it should come to that. 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 With her? with whom? 
 
 Henry. 
 
 Life on the hand is naked gipsy-stuff; 
 
 Life on the face, the brows— clear innocence ! 
 
 Vein'd marble — not a furrow yet — and hers 
 
 S^Muttering. 
 
 Crost and recrost, a venomous spider's web
 
 SCENE I. BECKET. 99 
 
 Rosamund {springi?ig up) . 
 
 Out of the cloud, my Sun — out of the echpse 
 Narrowing my golden hour ! 
 
 Henry. 
 
 O Rosamund, 
 I would be true — would tell thee all — and something 
 I had to say — I love thee none the less — 
 Which will so vex thee. 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 Something against tne ? 
 
 Henry. 
 
 No, no, against myself. 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 I will not hear it. 
 Come, come, mine hour ! I bargain for mine hour. 
 I'll call thee little Geoffrey. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 Call him ! 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 Geoffrey ! 
 \^Enter Geoffrey.
 
 loo BECKET. ACT ii. 
 
 Henry. 
 How the boy grows ! 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 Ay, and his brows are thine ; 
 The mouth is only Clifford, my dear father. 
 
 Geoffrey. 
 My liege, what hast thou brought me ? 
 
 Henry. 
 
 Venal imp ! 
 What say'st thou to the Chancellorship of England? 
 
 Geoffrey. 
 O yes, my liege. 
 
 Henry. 
 * O yes, my liege ! ' He speaks 
 As if it were a cake of gingerbread. 
 
 Dost thou know, my boy, what it is to be Chancellor 
 of England ? 
 
 Geoffrey. 
 Something good, or thou wouldst not give it me. 
 
 Henry. 
 It is, my boy, to side with the King when Chan-
 
 SCENE I. BECKET. loi 
 
 cellor, and then to be made Archbishop and go against 
 the King who made him, and turn the world upside 
 down. 
 
 Geoffrey. 
 
 I won't have it then. Nay, but give it me, and I 
 promise thee not to turn the world upside down. 
 
 Henry {giving him a ball) . 
 
 Here is a ball, my boy, thy world, to turn anyway 
 and play with as thou wilt — which is more than I can 
 do with mine. Go try it, play. \^Exit Geoffrey. 
 
 A pretty lusty boy. 
 
 Rosamund. 
 So like to thee ; 
 
 Like to be liker. 
 
 Henry. 
 Not in my chin, I hope ! 
 
 That threatens double. 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 Thou art manlike perfect. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 Ay, ay, no doubt ; and were I humpt behind, 
 Thou'dst say as much — the goodly way of women
 
 I02 BECKET. ACT 11. 
 
 Who love, for which I love them. May God 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.
 
 SCENE I. BECKET. 103 
 
 Henry. 
 Ay! but if he did? 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 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 shalt confess all thy sweet sins to me. 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 Besides, we came away in such a heat, 
 
 1 brought not ev'n my crucifix. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 Take this. 
 
 f Giving her the Crucifix which Eleanor ^-"ae'^ him.
 
 I04 BECKET. act il 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 O beautiful ! May I have it as mine, till mine 
 Be mine again? 
 
 Henr\ {^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). 
 
 by thy love for me, all mine for thee. 
 Fling not thy soul into the flames of hell : 
 
 1 kneel to thee — be friends with him again. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 Look, look ! if litde Geoffrey have not tost 
 His ball into the brook ! makes after it too 
 To find it. Why, the child will drown himself.
 
 scene ii. becket. 105 
 
 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 God'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,
 
 io6 BECKET. act ii. 
 
 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. 
 
 John of Oxford. 
 There's York, my Hege. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 But England scarce would hold 
 Young Henry king, if only crown'd by York, 
 And that would stilt up York to twice himself. 
 There is a movement yonder in the crowd — 
 See if our pious — what shall I call him, John? — 
 Husband-in-law, our smooth-shorn suzerain. 
 Be yet within the field. 
 
 John of Oxford. 
 
 I will. \Exit, 
 
 Henry. 
 
 Ay! Ay! 
 
 Mince and go back 1 his poUtic Holiness
 
 SCENE 11. BECKET. 107 
 
 Hath all but climb'd the Roman perch again, 
 And we shall hear him presently with clapt wing 
 Crow over Barbarossa — at last tongue-free 
 To blast my realms with excommunication 
 And interdict. I must patch up a peace — 
 A piece in this long-tugged-at, threadbare-worn 
 Quarrel of Crown and Church — to rend again. 
 His Holiness cannot steer straight thro' shoals, 
 Nor I. The citizen's heir hath conquer'd me 
 For the moment. So we make our peace with him. 
 
 \_Entcr Louis. 
 Brother of France, what shall be done with Becket? 
 
 Louis. 
 
 The holy Thomas ! Brother, you have trafifick'd 
 Between the Emperor and the Pope, between 
 The Pope and Antipope — a perilous game 
 For men to play with God. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 Ay, ay, good brother, 
 They call you the Monk- King. 
 
 Louis. 
 
 Who calls me? she 
 That was my wife, now yours ? You have her Kuchy, 
 The point you aim'd at, and pray God she prove
 
 io8 BECKET. act ii. 
 
 True wife to you. You have had the better of us 
 In secular matters. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 Come, confess, good brother, 
 You did your best or worst to keep her Duchy. 
 Only the golden Leopard printed in it 
 Such hold-fast claws that you perforce again 
 Shrank into France. Tut, tut ! did we convene 
 This conference but to babble of our wives ? 
 They are plagues enough in-door. 
 
 Louis. 
 
 We fought in the East, 
 And felt the sun of Antioch' scald our mail. 
 And push'd our lances into Saracen hearts. 
 We never hounded on the State at home 
 To spoil the Church. 
 
 Henry. 
 How should you see this rightly ? 
 
 Louis. 
 
 Well, well, no more ! I am proud of my ' Monk- King,' 
 Whoever named me ; and, brother. Holy Church 
 May rock, but will not wreck, nor our Archbishop
 
 SCENE II BECKET. 109 
 
 Stagger on the slope decks for any rough sea 
 Blown by the breath of kings. We do forgive you 
 For aught you wrought against us. 
 
 [Henry holds up his hand. 
 Nay, I pray you. 
 Do not defend yourself You will do much 
 To rake out all old dying heats, if you, 
 At my requesting, will but look into 
 The wrongs you did him, and restore his kin, 
 Reseat hini on his throne of Canterbury, 
 Be, both, the friends you were. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 The friends we were ! 
 Co-mates we were, and had our sport together, 
 Co-kings we were, and made the laws together. 
 The world had never seen the like before. 
 You are too cold to know the fashion of it. 
 Well, well, we will be gentle with him, gracious — 
 Most gracious. 
 
 Enter Becket, after him, John of Oxford, Roger 
 OF York, Gilbert Foliot, De Broc, Fitzurse, 
 etc. 
 
 Only that the rift he made 
 May close between us, here I am wholly king, 
 The word should come from him.
 
 no BECKET. ACT ii. 
 
 Becket {kneeling). 
 
 Then, my dear liege, 
 I here deliver all this controversy 
 Into your royal hands. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 Ah, Thomas, Thomas, 
 Thou art thyself again, Thomas again. 
 
 Becket {rising). 
 Saving God's honour ! 
 
 Henry. 
 
 Out upon thee, man ! 
 Saving the Devil's honour, his yes and no. 
 Knights, bishops, earls, this London spawn— by 
 
 Mahound, 
 I had sooner have been born a Mussulman — 
 Less clashing with their priests — 
 I am half-way down the slope — will no man stay me ? 
 I dash myself to pieces — I stay myself— 
 Puff — it is gone. You, Master Becket, you 
 That owe to me your power over me — 
 Nay, nay — 
 
 Brother of France, you have taken, cherish'd him 
 Who thief-like fled from his own church by night. 
 No man pursuing. I would have had him back.
 
 SCENE II. BECKET. Ill 
 
 Take heed he do not turn and rend you too: 
 
 For whatsoever may displease him — that 
 
 Is clean against God's honour — a shift, a trick 
 
 Whereby to challenge, face me out of all 
 
 My regal rights. Yet, yet — that none may dream 
 
 I go against God's honour — ay, or himself 
 
 In any reason, choose 
 
 A hundred of the wisest heads from England, 
 
 A hundred, too, from Normandy and Anjou: 
 
 Let these decide on what was customary 
 
 In olden days, and all the Church of France 
 
 Decide on their decision, I am content. 
 
 More, what the mightiest and the holiest 
 
 Of all his predecessors may have done 
 
 Ev'n to the least and meanest of my own, 
 
 Let him do the same to me — I am content. 
 
 Louis. 
 Ay, ay ! the King humbles himself enough. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 {Aside.) Words ! he will wriggle out of them like an eel 
 When the time serves. (Aloud.) My lieges and my 
 
 lords. 
 The thanks of Holy Church are due to those 
 That went before us for their work, which we 
 Inheriting reap an easier harvest. Yet
 
 112 BECKET. ACT IL 
 
 Loms. 
 
 My lord, will you be greater than the Saints, 
 
 More than St. Peter? whom what is it you doubt? 
 
 Behold your peace at hand. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 I say that those 
 Who went before us did not wholly clear 
 The deadly growths of earth, which Hell's own heat 
 So dwelt on that they rose and darken' d Heaven. 
 Yet they did much. Would God they had torn up all 
 By the hard root, which shoots again; our trial 
 Had so been less; but, seeing they were men 
 Defective or excessive, must we follow 
 All that they overdid or underdid? 
 Nay, if they were defective as St. Peter 
 Denying Christ, who yet defied the tyrant. 
 We hold by his defiance, not his defect. 
 O good son Louis, do not counsel me, 
 No, to suppress God's honour for the sake 
 Of any king that breathes. No, God forbid ! 
 
 Henry. 
 
 No ! God forbid ! and turn me Mussulman ! 
 No God but one, and Mahound is his prophet. 
 But for your Christian, look you, you shall have
 
 SCENE II. BECKET. IIS 
 
 None other God but me — me, Thomas, son 
 
 Of Gilbert Becket, London merchant. Out! 
 
 I hear no more. \_Exit. 
 
 Louis. 
 
 Our brother's anger puts him, 
 
 Poor man, beside himself — not wise. My lord. 
 
 We have claspt your cause, believing that our brother 
 
 Had wrong'd you; but this day he proffer'd peace. 
 
 You will have war; and tho' we grant the Church 
 
 King over this world's kings, yet, my good lord, 
 
 We that are kings are something in this world, 
 
 And so we pray you, draw yourself from under 
 
 The wings of France. We shelter you no more. 
 
 \_Exii. 
 John of Oxford. 
 
 I am glad that France hath scouted him at last : 
 
 I told the Pope what manner of man he was. \_Exit. 
 
 Roger of York. 
 
 Yea, since he flouts the will of either realm, 
 
 Let either cast him away like a dead dog! \_Exii. 
 
 FOLIOT. 
 
 Yea, let a stranger spoil his heritage, 
 
 And let another take his bishoprick ! \Exit, 
 
 VOL. VI. I
 
 114 BECKET. ACT ii 
 
 De Broc. 
 Our castle, my lord, belongs to Canterbury. 
 I pray you come and take it. {Exit. 
 
 FiTZURSE. 
 
 When you will. {Exit. 
 Becket. 
 
 Cursed be John of Oxford, Roger of York, 
 And Gilbert Foliot ! cursed those De Brocs 
 That hold our Saltvvood Castle from our see ! 
 Cursed Fitzurse, and all the rest of them 
 That sow this hate between my lord and me ! 
 
 Voices frojn the Crowd. 
 
 Blessed be the Lord Archbishop, who hath with- 
 stood two Kings to their faces for the honour of God. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings, praise ! 
 I thank you, sons; when kings but hold by crowns, 
 The crowd that hungers for a crown in Heaven 
 Is my true king. 
 
 Herbert. 
 
 Thy true King bad thee be 
 A fisher of men; thou hast them in thy net.
 
 SCENE II. BECKEr. 115 
 
 Becket. 
 
 I am too like the King here; both of us 
 
 Too headlong for our office. Better have been 
 
 A fisherman at Bosham, my good Herbert, 
 
 Thy birthplace — the sea-creek — the petty rill 
 
 That falls into it — the green field — the gray church — 
 
 The simple lobster-basket, and the mesh — 
 
 The more or less of daily labour done — 
 
 The pretty gaping bills in the home-nest 
 
 Piping for bread — the daily want supplied — 
 
 The daily pleasure to supply it. 
 
 Herbert. 
 
 Ah, Thomas, 
 
 You had not borne it, no, not for a day. 
 
 Becket. 
 Well, maybe, no. 
 
 Herbert. 
 But bear with Walter Map, 
 For here he comes to comment on the time. 
 
 Enter Walter Map. 
 
 Walter Map. 
 Pity, my lord, that you have quenched the warmth
 
 Il6 BECKET. ACT II. 
 
 of France toward you, tho' His Holiness, after much 
 smouldering and smoking, be kindled again upon 
 your quarter. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Ay, if he do not end in smoke again. 
 
 Walter Map. 
 
 My lord, the fire, when first kindled, said to the 
 smoke, 'Go up, my son, straight to Heaven.' And 
 the smoke said, 'I go; ' but anon the North-east took 
 and turned him South-west, then the South-west turned 
 him North-east, and so of the other winds; but it was 
 in him to go up straight if the time had been quieter. 
 Your lordship affects the unwavering perpendicular; 
 but His Holiness, pushed one way by the Empire and 
 another by England, if he move at all, Heaven stay 
 him, is fain to diagonalise. 
 
 Herbert. 
 
 Diagonalise! thou art a word-monger! 
 Our Thomas never will diagonalise. 
 Thou art a jester and a verse-maker. 
 Diagonalise ! 
 
 Walter Map, 
 
 Is the world any the worse for my verses if the 
 Latin rhvmes be rolled out from a full mouth? or
 
 SCENE II. BECKET. 117 
 
 any harm done to the people if my jest be in defence 
 of the Truth? 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Ay, if the jest be so done that the people 
 Delight to wallow in the grossness of it, 
 Till Truth herself be shamed of her defender. 
 Non defensoribus istis, Walter Map. 
 
 Walter Map. 
 
 Is that my case ? so if the city be sick, and I can- 
 not call the kennel sweet, your lordship would suspend 
 me from verse-writing, as you suspended yourself 
 after sub-writing to the customs. 
 
 Becket. 
 I pray God pardon mine infirmity. 
 
 Walter Map. 
 
 Nay, my lord, take heart; for tho' you suspended 
 yourself, the Pope let you down again; and tho' you 
 suspend Foliot or another, the Pope will not leave 
 them in suspense, for the Pope himself is always in 
 suspense, like Mahound's cofifin hung between heaven 
 and earth — always in suspense, like the scales, till 
 the weight of Germany or the gold of England brings 
 one of them down to the dust — always in suspense,
 
 ii8 BECKET. ACT n. 
 
 like the tail of the horologe — to and fro — tick-tack 
 — we make the time, we keep the time, ay, and we 
 serve the time; for I have heard say that if you boxed 
 the Pope's ears with a purse, you might stagger him, 
 but he would pocket the purse. No saying of mine 
 — Jocelyn of Salisbury. But the King hath bought 
 half the College of Redhats. He warmed to you to- 
 day, and you have chilled him again. Yet you both 
 love God. Agree with him quickly again, even for 
 the sake of the Church. My one grain of good coun- 
 sel which you will not swallow. I hate a split between 
 old friendship as I hate the dirty gap in the face of 
 a Cistercian monk, that will swallow anything. Fare- 
 well. \^Exit. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Map scoffs at Rome. I all but hold with Map. 
 Save for myself no Rome were left in England, 
 All had been his. Why should this Rome, this Rome, 
 Still choose Barabbas rather than the Christ, 
 Absolve the left-hand thief and damn the right? 
 Take fees of tyranny, wink at sacrilege. 
 Which even Peter had not dared? condemn 
 The blameless exile? — 
 
 Herbert. 
 
 Thee, thou holy Thomas ! 
 I would that thou hadst been the Holy Father.
 
 SCENE II. BECKET. 119 
 
 Becket. 
 
 I would have done my most to keep Rome holy, 
 I would have made Rome know she still is Rome — 
 Who stands aghast at her eternal self 
 And shakes at mortal kings — her vacillation, 
 Avarice, craft — O God, how many an innocent 
 Has left his bones upon the way to Rome 
 Unwept, uncared for. Yea— on mine own self 
 The King had had no power except for Rome. 
 'Tis not the King who is guilty of mine exile, 
 But Rome, Rome, Rome ! 
 
 Herbert. 
 
 My lord, I see this Louis 
 Returning, ah ! to drive thee from his realm. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 He said as much before. Thou art no prophet, 
 Nor yet a prophet's son. 
 
 Herbert. 
 
 Whatever he say, 
 Deny not thou God's honour for a king. 
 The King looks troubled. 
 
 Re-enter King Louis.
 
 i20 becket. act ii, 
 
 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 
 God'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 God. 
 
 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. \_Exeuni. 
 
 Voices from the Crowd. 
 
 Long live the good King Louis! God bless the 
 great Archbishop !
 
 SCENE II. BECKET. 121 
 
 Re-enter Henry and John of Oxford. 
 
 Henry {lookhig after King Louis and Becket). 
 
 Ay, there they go — both backs are tnrn'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 1 
 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 — 
 
 122
 
 scene i. becket. 123 
 
 Henry. 
 
 And one fair child to fondle ! 
 
 ROSAMtTND. 
 
 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.
 
 124 becket. act iii. 
 
 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?
 
 SCENE I. BE CKE T. 125 
 
 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, God help her, 
 That she was sworn to silence. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 What did you ask her? 
 
 Rosamund. 
 Some daily something-nothing. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 Secret, then? 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 I do not love her. Must you go, my liege, 
 So suddenly?
 
 126 BECKET. 
 
 Henry. 
 I came to England suddenly, 
 And on a great occasion sure to wake 
 As great a wrath in Becket 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Always Becket! 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 He always comes between us. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 — And to meet it 
 I needs must leave as suddenly. It is raining. 
 Put on your hood and see me to the bounds. 
 
 \_Exeunt. 
 Margery {singing behind scene). 
 Babble in bower 
 
 Under the rose ! 
 Bee mustn't buzz, 
 
 Whoop — but he knows. 
 
 Kiss me, little one, 
 
 Nobody near ! 
 Grasshopper, grasshopper, 
 
 Whoop — you can hear. 
 
 Kiss in the bower. 
 
 Tit on the tree ! 
 Bird mustn't tell. 
 
 Whoop — he can see.
 
 SCENE I. BECKET. 127 
 
 Enter Margery. 
 
 I ha' been but a week here and I ha' seen what I 
 ha' seen, for to be sure it's no more than a week since 
 our old Father Philip that has confessed our mother 
 for twenty years, and she was hard put to it, and to 
 speak truth, nigh at the end of our last crust, and that 
 mouldy, and she cried out on him to put me forth in 
 the world and to make me a woman of the world, and 
 to win my own bread, whereupon he asked our mother 
 if I could keep a quiet tongue i' my head, and not 
 speak till I was spoke to, and I answered for myself 
 that I never spoke more than was needed, and he told 
 me he would advance me to the service of a great lady, 
 and took me ever so far away, and gave me a great 
 pat o' the cheek for a pretty wench, and said it was 
 a pity to blindfold such eyes as mine, and such to be 
 sure they be, but he blinded 'em for all that, and so 
 brought me no-hows as I may say, and the more shame 
 to him after his promise, into a garden and not into 
 the world, and bad me whatever I saw not to speak 
 one word, an' it 'ud be well for me in the end, for 
 there were great ones who would look after me, and to 
 be sure I ha' seen great ones to-day — and then not to 
 speak one word, for that's the rule o' the garden, 
 tho' to be sure if I had been Eve i' the garden I 
 shouldn't ha' minded the apple, for what's an apple,
 
 128 BECKET. ACT III. 
 
 you know, save to a child, and I'm no child, but 
 more a woman o' the world than my lady here, and 
 I ha' seen what I ha' seen — tho' to be sure if I hadn't 
 minded it we should all on us ha' had to go, bless the 
 Saints, wi' bare backs, but the backs 'ud ha' counte- 
 nanced one another, and belike it 'ud ha' been always 
 summer, and anyhow I am as well-shaped as my 
 lady here, and I ha' seen what I ha' seen, and what's 
 the good of my talking to myself, for here comes my 
 lady {enter Rosamund), and, my lady, tho' I shouldn't 
 speak one word, I wish you joy o' the King's 
 brother. 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 What is it you mean ? 
 
 Margery. 
 
 I mean your goodman, your husband, my lady, for 
 I saw your ladyship a-parting wi' him even now i' the 
 coppice, when I was a-getting o' bluebells for your 
 ladyship's nose to smell on — and I ha' seen the King 
 once at Oxford, and he's as like the King as finger- 
 nail to fingernail, and I thought at first it was the 
 King, only you know the King's married, for King 
 Louis 
 
 Rosamund. 
 Married !
 
 scene i. becket. 129 
 
 Margery. 
 
 Years and years, my lady, for her husband, King 
 Louis 
 
 Rosamund. 
 Hush! 
 
 Margery. 
 
 — And I thought if it were the King's brother he 
 had a better bride than the King, for the people do 
 say that his is bad beyond all reckoning, and 
 
 Rosamund. 
 The people lie. 
 
 Margery. 
 
 Very like, my lady, but most on 'em know an hon- 
 est woman and a lady when they see her, and besides 
 they say, she makes songs, and that's against her, for 
 I never knew an honest woman that could make songs, 
 tho' to be sure our mother 'ill sing me old songs by 
 the hour, but then, God help her, she had 'em from 
 her mother, and her mother from her mother back 
 and back for ever so long, but none on 'em ever made 
 songs, and they were all honest. 
 
 Rosamund. 
 Go, you shall tell me of her some other time. 
 
 VOL. VI. K
 
 I30 BECKET. ACT iii. 
 
 Margery. 
 
 There's none so much to tell on her, my lady, only 
 she kept the seventh commandment better than some 
 I know on, or I couldn't look your ladyship i' the 
 face, and she brew'd the best ale in all Glo'ster, that 
 is to say in her time when she had the 'Crown.' 
 
 Rosamund. 
 The crown ! who ? 
 
 Margery. 
 Mother. 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 I mean her whom you call — fancy — my husband's 
 brother's wife. 
 
 Margery. 
 
 Oh, Queen Eleanor. Yes, my lady; and tho' I be 
 sworn not to speak a word, I can tell you all about 
 
 her, if 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 No word now. I am faint and sleepy. Leave me. 
 Nay — go. What! w'" you anger me? 
 
 \_Exit Margery. 
 He charged me not to question any of those 
 About me. Have I? no! she question'd me.
 
 SCENE I. BECKET. 131 
 
 Did she not slander hun ? Should she stay here? 
 
 May she not tempt me, being at my side, 
 
 To question her ? Nay, can I send her hence 
 
 Without his kingly leave ! I am in the dark. 
 
 I have lived, poor bird, from cage to cage, and known 
 
 Nothing but him — ^happy to know no more, 
 
 So that he loved me — and he loves me — yes, 
 
 And bound me by his love to secrecy 
 
 Till his own time. 
 
 Eleanor, Eleanor, have I 
 Not heard ill things of her in France? Oh, she's 
 The Queen of France. I see it — some confusion, 
 Some strange mistake. I did not hear aright, 
 Myself confused with parting from the King. 
 
 Margery {behind scene). 
 
 Bee mustn't buzz, 
 Whoop — but he knows. 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 Yet her — what her? he hinted of some her — 
 When he was here before — 
 
 Something that would displease me. Hath he stray'd 
 From love's clear path into the common bush. 
 And, being scratch'd, returns to his true rose. 
 Who hath not thorn enough to prick him for it, 
 Ev'n with a word?
 
 132 BECKET. ACT iii, 
 
 Margery {behind scene). 
 
 Bird mustn't tell, 
 Whoop — he can see. 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 I would not hear him. Nay — there's more — he frown'd 
 *No mate for her, if it should come to that ' — 
 To that — to what? 
 
 Margery {behind scene). 
 
 Whoop — but he knows, 
 Whoop — but he knows. 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 O God ! some dreadful truth is breaking on me — 
 Some dreadful thing is coming on me. 
 
 {^Enter Geoffrey. 
 Geoffrey ! 
 Geoffrey. 
 
 What are you crying for, when the sun shines? 
 
 Rosamund. 
 Hath not thy father left us to ourselves? 
 
 Geoffrey. 
 Ay, but he's taken the rain with him. I hear 
 Margery: I'll go play with her. \_Exit Geoffrey.
 
 scene ii. becket. 133 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 Rainbow, stay, 
 Gleam upon gloom, 
 Bright as my dream, 
 Rainbow, stay! 
 But it passes away. 
 Gloom upon gleam, 
 Dark as my doom — 
 O rainbow, stay. 
 
 Scene II. — Outside the Woods near Rosamund's 
 
 Bower^ 
 
 Eleanor. Fitzurse. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Up from the salt lips of the land we two 
 Have track'd the King to this dark inland wood; 
 And somewhere hereabouts he vanish'd. Here 
 His turtle builds: his exit is our adit: 
 Watch ! he will out again, and presently^ 
 Seeing he must to Westminster and crown 
 Young Henry there to-morrow. 
 
 Fitzurse. 
 
 We have watch'd
 
 134 BECKET. act hi. 
 
 So long in vain, he hath pass'd out again, 
 And on the other side. \_A great horn winded. 
 
 Hark ! Madam ! 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Ay, 
 How ghostly sounds that horn in the black wood ! 
 
 \_A countryman flying. 
 Whither away, man? what are you flying from? 
 
 Countryman. 
 
 The witch ! the witch ! she sits naked by a great 
 heap of gold in the middle of the wood, and when 
 the horn sounds she comes out as a wolf. Get you 
 hence! a man passed in there to-day: I hoUa'd to 
 him, but he didn't hear me: he'll never out again, 
 the witch has got him. I daren't stay — I daren't 
 stay! 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Kind of the witch to give thee warning tho'. 
 
 \J^an flies. 
 Is not this wood-witch of the rustic's fear 
 Our woodland Circe that hath witch' d the King ? 
 
 \_Horn sounded. Another flying. 
 
 FiTZURSE. 
 
 Again ! stay, fool, and tell me why thou fliest.
 
 SCENE II. BECKET. 135 
 
 Countryman. 
 
 Fly thou too. The King keeps his forest head of 
 game here, and when that horn sounds, a score of 
 wolf-dogs are let loose that will tear thee piecemeal. 
 Linger not till the third horn. Fly ! \_Exit. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 This is the likelier tale. We have hit the place. 
 Now let the King's fine game look to itself. \_Horn. 
 
 FiTZURSE. 
 
 Again ! — 
 
 And far on in the dark heart of the wood 
 
 I hear the yelping of the hounds of hell. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 I have my dagger here to still their throats. 
 
 FiTZURSE. 
 
 Nay, Madam, not to-night— the night is falling. 
 What can be done to-night? 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Well — well — away.
 
 136 BECKET. ACT III. 
 
 Scene III. — Traitor'' s Meadow at Freteval. Pavilions 
 and Tefits of the Efigiish and French Baronage. 
 
 Becket and Herbert of Bosham. 
 
 Becket. 
 See here ! 
 
 Herbert. 
 
 What's here? 
 
 Becket. 
 
 A notice from the priest, 
 To whom our John of Salisbury committed 
 The secret of the bower, that our wolf-Queen 
 Is prowling round the fold. I should be back 
 In England ev'n for this, 
 
 Herbert. 
 
 These are by-things 
 In the great cause. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 The by-things of the Lord 
 Are the wrong' d innocences that will cry 
 From all the hidden by-ways of the world 
 In the great day against the wronger. I know 
 Thy meaning. Perish she, I, all, before 
 The Church should suffer wrong !
 
 SCENE III. BECKET. 137 
 
 Herbert. 
 
 Do you see, my lord, 
 There is the King talking with Walter Map? 
 
 Becket. 
 
 He hath the Pope's last letters, and they threaten 
 The immediate thunder-blast of interdict: 
 Yet he can scarce be touching upon those, 
 Or scarce would smile that fashion. 
 
 Herbert. 
 
 Winter sunshine ! 
 Beware of opening out thy bosom to it, 
 Lest thou, myself, and all thy flock should catch 
 An after ague-fit of trembling. Look ! 
 He bows, he bares his head, he is coming hither. 
 Still with a smile. 
 
 Enter King Henry a7id Walter Map. 
 Henry. 
 
 We have had so many hours together, Thomas, 
 
 So many happy hours alone together, 
 
 That I would speak with you once more alone.
 
 '38 BECKET. act hi. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 My liege, your will and happiness are mine. 
 
 \_Exeunt King and Becket. 
 
 Herbert. 
 The same smile still. 
 
 Walter Map. 
 
 Do you see that great black cloud that hath come 
 over the sun and cast us all into shadow? 
 
 Herbert. 
 And feel it too. 
 
 Walter Map. 
 
 And see you yon side-beam that is forced from 
 under it, and sets the church-tower over there all a- 
 hell-fire as it were? 
 
 Herbert. 
 Ay. 
 
 Walter Map. 
 
 It is this black, bell-silencing, anti-marrying, burial- 
 hindering interdict that hath squeezed out this side- 
 smile upon Canterbury, whereof may come conflagra- 
 tion. Were I Thomas, I wouldn't trust it. Sudden
 
 SCENE III. BECKET. 139 
 
 change is a house on sand; and tho' I count Henry 
 honest enough, yet when fear creeps in at the ffont, 
 honesty steals out at the back, and the King at last is 
 fairly scared by this cloud — this interdict. I have 
 been more for the King than the Church in this 
 matter — yea, even for the sake of the Church : for, 
 truly, as the case stood, you had safelier have slain 
 an archbishop than a she-goat : but our recoverer and 
 upholder of customs hath in this crowning of young 
 Henry by York and London so violated the imme- 
 morial usage of the Church, that, like the grave- 
 digger's child I have heard of, trjwng to ring the bell, 
 he hath half-hanged himself in the rope of the Church, 
 or rather pulled all the Church with the Holy Father 
 astride of it down upon his own head. 
 
 Herbert. 
 Were you there? 
 
 Walter Map. 
 
 In the church rope? — no. I was at the crowning, 
 for I have pleasure in the pleasure of crowds, and to 
 read the faces of men at a great show. 
 
 Herbert. 
 And how did Roger of York comport himself?
 
 I40 BECKET. act hi. 
 
 Walter Map. 
 
 As magnificently and archiepiscopally as our 
 Thomas would have done : only there was a dare- 
 devil in his eye — I should say a dare-Becket. He 
 thought less of tvvo kings than of one Roger the king 
 of the occasion. Foliot is the holier man, perhaps 
 the better. Once or twice there ran a twitch across 
 his face as who should say what's to follow? but 
 Salisbury was a calf cowed by Mother Church, and 
 every now and then glancing about him like a thief 
 at night when he hejrs a door open in the house and 
 thinks 'the master.' 
 
 Herbert. 
 And the father-king? 
 
 Walter Map. 
 
 The father's eye was so tender it would have called 
 a goose off the green, and once he strove to hide his 
 face, like the Greek king when his daughter was sacri- 
 ficed, but he thought better of it: it was but the 
 sacrifice of a kingdom to his son, a smaller matter; 
 but as to the young crownling himself, he looked so 
 malapert in the eyes, that had I fathered him I had 
 given him more of the rod than the sceptre. Then 
 followed the thunder of the captains and the shouting, 
 and so we came on to the banquet, from whence there
 
 SCENE III. BECKET. 141 
 
 puffed out such an incense of unctuosity into the 
 nostrils of our Gods of Church and State, that Lucul- 
 lus or Apicius might have sniffed it in tlieir Hades of 
 heathenism, so that the smell of their own roast had 
 not come across it * 
 
 Herbert. 
 
 Map, tho' you make your butt too big, you over- 
 shoot it. 
 
 Walter Map. 
 
 — For as to the fish, they de-miracled the miracu- 
 lous draught, and might have sunk a navy 
 
 Herbert. 
 There again, Goliasing and Goliathising! 
 
 Walter Map. 
 
 — And as for the flesh at table, a whole Peter's 
 sheet, with all manner of game, and four-footed things, 
 
 and fowls 
 
 Herbert. 
 
 And all manner of creeping things too? 
 
 Walter Map. 
 
 — Well, there were Abbots — but they did not bring 
 their women; and so we were dull enough at first, 
 but in the end we flourished out into a merriment;
 
 142 BECKET. ACT in. 
 
 for the old King would act servitor and hand a dish 
 to his son; whereupon my Lord of York — his fine-cut 
 face bowing and beaming with all that courtesy which 
 hath less loyalty in it than the backward scrape of 
 the clown's heel — 'great honour,' says he, 'from the 
 King's self to the King's son.' Did you hear the 
 young King's quip? 
 
 Herbert. 
 No, what was it? 
 
 Walter Map. 
 
 Glancing at the days when his father was only Earl 
 of Anjou, he answered: — 'Should not an earl's son 
 wait on a king's son? ' And when the cold corners 
 of the King's mouth began to thaw, there was a great 
 motion of laughter among us, part real, part child- 
 like, to be freed from the dulness — part royal, for 
 King and kingling both laughed, and so we could not 
 but laugh, as by a royal necessity — part childlike 
 again — when we felt we had laughed too long and 
 could not stay ourselves — many midriff-shaken even 
 to tears, as springs gush out after earthquakes — but 
 from those, as I said before, there may come a con- 
 flagration — tho', to keep the figure moist and make it 
 hold water, I should say rather, the lacrymation of a 
 lamentation; but look if Thomas have not flung him- 
 self at the King's feet. They have made it up 
 again — for the moment.
 
 SCENE III. BECKET. 143 
 
 Herbert. 
 Thanks to the blessed Magdalen, whose day it is. 
 
 Re-enter Henry and Becket. {^During their confer- 
 ence the Barons and Bishops of France and 
 England come in at back of stage.') 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Ay, King ! for in thy kingdom, as thou knowest. 
 The spouse of the Great King, thy King, hath fallen — 
 The daughter of Zion lies beside the way — 
 The priests of Baal tread her underfoot — 
 The golden ornaments are stolen from her 
 
 Henry. 
 
 Have I not promised to restore her, Thomas, 
 And send thee back again to Canterbury? 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Send back again those exiles of my kin 
 Who wander famine-wasted thro' the world. 
 
 Henry. 
 Have I not promised, man, to send them back?
 
 144 BECKET. ACT iii. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Yet one thing more. Thou hast broken thro' the pales 
 Of privilege, crowning thy young son by York, 
 London and Salisbury — not Canterbury. 
 
 Henry. 
 York crown 'd the Conqueror — not Canterbury. 
 
 Becket. 
 There was no Canterbury in William's time. 
 
 Henry. 
 But Hereford, you know, crown 'd the first Henry. 
 
 Becket. 
 But Anselm crown'd this Henry o'er again. 
 
 Henry. 
 And thou shalt crown my Henry o'er again. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 And is it then with thy good-will that I 
 Proceed against thine evil councillors. 
 And hurl the dread ban of the Church on those 
 Who made the second mitre play the first, 
 And acted me?
 
 scene iii. becket. 145 
 
 Henry. 
 
 Well, well, then — have thy way ! 
 It may be they were evil councillors. 
 What more, my lord Archbishop? What more, 
 
 Thomas ? 
 I make thee full amends. Say all thy say, 
 But blaze not out before the Frenchmen here. 
 
 Becket. 
 More? Nothing, so thy promise be thy deed. 
 
 Henry {holding out his hand). 
 
 Give me thy hand. My Lords of France and England, 
 
 My friend of Canterbury and myself 
 
 Are now once more at perfect amity. 
 
 Unkingly should I be, and most unknightly 
 
 Not striving still, however much in vain, 
 
 To rival him in Christian charity. 
 
 Herbert. 
 All praise to Heaven, and sweet St. Magdalen ! 
 
 Henry. 
 
 And so farewell until we meet in England. 
 
 VOL. VI. L
 
 146 BECKET. ACT in. 
 
 Becket. 
 I fear, my liege, we may not meet in England. 
 
 Henry, 
 How, do you make me a traitor? 
 
 Becket. 
 
 No, indeed! 
 That be far from thee. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 Come, stay with us, then. 
 Before you part for England. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 I am bound 
 For that one hour to stay with good King Louis, 
 Who helpt me when none else. 
 
 Herbert. 
 
 He said thy life 
 Was not one hour's worth in England save 
 King Henry gave thee iirst the kiss of peace. 
 
 Henry. 
 He said so? Louis, did he? look you, Herbert.
 
 SCENE III. BECKET. 1^7 
 
 When I was in mine anger with King Louis, 
 
 I sware I would not give the kiss of peace, 
 
 Not on French ground, nor any ground but English, 
 
 Where his cathedral stands. Mine old friend, 
 
 Thomas, 
 I would there were that perfect trust between us. 
 That health of heart, once ours, ere Pope or King 
 Had come between us! Even now — who knows? — 
 I might deliver all things to thy hand — 
 If . , . but I say no more . . . farewell, my lord. 
 
 Becket. 
 Farewell, my liege ! 
 
 \_£xi^ Henry, t/ien the Barons and Bishops. 
 
 Walter Map, 
 
 There again ! when the full fruit of the royal prom- 
 ise might have dropt into thy mouth hadst thou but 
 opened it to thank him. 
 
 Becket. 
 He fenced his royal promise with an if. 
 
 Walter Map. 
 
 And is the King's if too high a stile for your lord- 
 ship to overstep and come at all things in the next 
 field?
 
 148 becket. act iii. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Ay, if this if be like the Devil's 'if 
 Thou wilt fall down and worship me.' 
 
 Herbert. 
 
 Oh, Thomas, 
 I could fall down and worship thee, my Thomas, 
 For thou hast trodden this wine-press alone. 
 
 Becket. 
 Nay, of the people there are many with me. 
 
 Walter Map. 
 
 I am not altogether with you, my lord, tho' I am 
 none of those that would raise a storm between you, 
 lest ye should draw together like two ships in a calm. 
 You wrong the King : he meant what he said to-day. 
 Who shall vouch for his to-morrows? One word 
 further. Doth not the feloness of anything make the 
 fulness of it in estimation? Is not virtue prized 
 mainly for its rarity and great baseness loathed as an 
 exception : for were all, my lord, as noble as your- 
 self, who would look up to you? and were all as base 
 as — who shall I say — Fitzurse and his following — who 
 would look down upon them? My lord, you have
 
 SCENE III. BECKET. 149 
 
 put so many of the King's household out of commun- 
 ion, that they begin to smile at it. 
 
 Becket. 
 At their peril, at their peril 
 
 Walter Map. 
 
 — For tho' the drop may hollow out the dead stone, 
 doth not the living skin thicken against perpetual 
 whippings? This is the second grain of good coun- 
 sel I ever proffered thee, and so cannot suffer by the 
 rule of frequency. Have I sown it in salt? I trust 
 not, for before God I promise you the King hath 
 many more wolves than he can tame in his woods of 
 England, and if it suit their purpose to howl for the 
 King, and you still move against him, you may have 
 no less than to die for it; but God and his free 
 wind grant your lordship a happy home-return and 
 the King's kiss of peace in Kent. Farewell ! I must 
 follow the King. {Exit. 
 
 Herbert. 
 
 Ay, and I warrant the customs. Did the King 
 Speak of the customs? 
 
 Becket. 
 
 No !— To die for it— 
 I live to die for it, I die to live for it.
 
 150 BECKET. ACT III 
 
 The State will die, the Church can never die. 
 
 The King's not like to die for that which dies; 
 
 But I must die for that which never dies. 
 
 It will be so— my visions in the Lord : 
 
 It must be so, my friend ! the wolves of England 
 
 Must murder her one shepherd, that the sheep 
 
 May feed in peace. False figure. Map would say. 
 
 Earth's falses are heaven's truths. And when my voice 
 
 Is martyr 'd mute, and this man disappears, 
 
 That perfect trust may come again between us, 
 
 And there, there, there, not here I shall rejoice 
 
 To find my stray sheep back within the fold. 
 
 The crowd are scattering, let us move away ! 
 
 And thence to England. \_Exeunt
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I. — The outskirts of the Bower. 
 Geoffrey {coming out of the wood). 
 
 Light again! light again! Margery? no, that's a 
 finer thing there. How it glitters! 
 
 Eleanor {eiitering). 
 Come to me, little one. How camest thou hither? 
 
 Geoffrey. 
 On my legs. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 And mighty pretty legs too. Thou art the prettiest 
 child I ever saw. Wilt thou love me? 
 
 Geoffrey. 
 No; I only love mother. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Ay; and who is thy mother? 
 
 151
 
 152 BECKET. ACT IV. 
 
 Geoffrey. 
 They call her But she lives secret, you see. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Why? 
 
 Geoffrey. 
 Don't know why. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Ay, but some one comes to see her now and then. 
 Who is he? 
 
 Geoffrey. 
 Can't tell. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 What does she call him? 
 
 Geoffrey. 
 My liege. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Pretty one, how camest thou? 
 
 Geoffrey. 
 
 There was a bit of yellow silk here and there, and 
 it looked pretty like a glowworm, and I thought if I 
 followed it I should find the fairies.
 
 SCENE I. BECKET. 153 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 I am the fairy, pretty one, a good fairy to thy 
 mother. Take me to her. 
 
 Geoffrey. 
 
 There are good fairies and bad fairies, and some- 
 times she cries, and can't sleep sound o' nights be- 
 cause of the bad fairies. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 She shall cry no more; she shall sleep sound enough 
 if thou wilt take me to her. I am her good fairy. 
 
 Geoffrey. 
 
 But you don't look like a good fairy. Mother 
 does. You are not pretty, like mother. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 We can't all of us be as pretty as thou art — {aside) 
 little bastard. Come, here is a golden chain I will 
 give thee if thou wilt lead me to thy mother. 
 
 Geoffrey. 
 
 No — no gold. Mother says gold spoils all. Love 
 is the only gold.
 
 154 BECKET. ACT iv. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 I love thy mother, my pretty boy. Show me where 
 thou earnest out of the wood. 
 
 Geoffrey. 
 
 By this tree; but I don't know if I can find the 
 way back again. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Where's the warder? 
 
 Geoffrey. 
 Very bad. Somebody struck him. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Ay? who was that? 
 
 Geoffrey. 
 
 Can't tell. But I heard say he had had a stroke, 
 or you'd have heard his horn before now. Come 
 along, then; we shall see the silk here and there, 
 and I want my supper. \_Exeunr.
 
 SCENE II. BECKET. 155 
 
 Scene II. — Rosamund's Bower. 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 The boy so late; pray God, he be not lost. 
 I sent this Margery, and she comes not back; 
 I sent another, and she comes not back. 
 I go myself — so many alleys, crossings, 
 Paths, avenues — nay, if I lost him, now 
 The folds have fallen from the mystery, 
 And left all naked, I were lost indeed. 
 
 Enter Geoffrey a?jd Eleanor. 
 
 Geoffrey, the pain thou hast put me to ! 
 
 [^Seeing Eleanor. 
 Ha, you! 
 How came you hither? 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Your own child brought me hither ! 
 
 Geoffrey. 
 
 You said you couldn't trust Margery, and I watched 
 her and followed her into the woods, and I lost her 
 and went on and on till I found the light and the 
 lady, and she says she can make you sleep o' nights.
 
 IS6 BECKET. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 How dared you? Know you not this bower is secret, 
 
 Of and belonging to the King of England, 
 
 More sacred than his forests for the chase? 
 
 Nay, nay, Heaven help you; get you hence in haste 
 
 Lest worse befall you. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Child, I am mine own self 
 Of and belonging to the King. The King 
 Hath divers ofs and ons, ofs and belongings, 
 Almost as many as your true Mussulman — 
 Belongings, paramours, whom it pleases him 
 To call his wives; but so it chances, child, 
 That I am his main paramour, his sultana. 
 But since the fondest pair of doves will jar, 
 Ev'n in a cage of gold, we had words of late, 
 And thereupon he call'd my children bastards. 
 Do you believe that you are married to him? 
 
 Rosamund. 
 I should believe it. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 You must not believe it, 
 Because I have a wholesome medicine here
 
 SCENE II, BECKET. 157 
 
 Puts that belief asleep. Your answer, beauty! 
 Do you believe that you are married to him? 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 Geoffrey, my boy, I saw the ball you lost in the 
 fork of the great willow over the brook. Go. See 
 that you do not fall in. Go. 
 
 Geoffrey. 
 
 And leave you alone with the good fairy. She calls 
 you beauty, but I don't like her looks. Well, you 
 bid me go, and I'll have ray ball anyhow. Shall I 
 find you asleep when I come back? 
 
 Rosamund. 
 Go. {Exit Geoffrey. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 He is easily found again. Do you believe it? 
 I pray you then to take my sleeping-draught; 
 But if you should not care to take it — see ! 
 
 \_DraK<s a dagger. 
 What ! have I scared the red rose from your face 
 Into your heart. But this will find it there. 
 And dig it from the root for ever. 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 Help! help!
 
 158 BECKET. ACT IV 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 They say that walls have ears ; but these, it seems, 
 Have none ! and I have none — to pity thee. 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 I do beseech you — my child is so young, 
 
 So backward too; I cannot leave him yet, 
 
 I am not so happy I could not die myself, 
 
 But the child is so young. You have children — his; 
 
 And mine is the King's child; so, if you love him — 
 
 Nay, if you love him, there is great wrong done 
 
 Somehow; but if you do not — there are those 
 
 Who say you do not love him — let me go 
 
 With my young boy, and I will hide my face, 
 
 Blacken and gipsyfy it; none shall know me; 
 
 The King shall never hear of me again. 
 
 But I will beg my bread along the world 
 
 With my young boy, and God will be our guide. 
 
 I never meant your harm in any way. 
 
 See, I can say no more. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Will you not say you are not married to him? 
 
 Rosamund. 
 Ay, Madam, I can say it, if you will.
 
 SCENE II, BECKET. 159 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Then is thy pretty boy a bastard? 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 No. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 And thou thyself a proven wanton? 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 No. 
 
 I am none such. I never loved but one. 
 
 I have heard of such that range from love to love. 
 Like the wild beast — if you can call it love. 
 I have heard of such — yea, even among those 
 Who sit on thrones — I never saw any such, 
 Never knew any such, and howsoever 
 You do misname me, match' d with any such, 
 I am snow to mud. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 The more the pity then 
 That thy true home — the heavens — cry out for thee 
 Who art too pure for earth. 
 
 Enter Fit2Xirse. 
 
 Fitzurse. 
 
 Give her to me.
 
 i6o BECKET. act iv. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 The Judas-lover of our passion-play 
 Hath track' d us hither^ 
 
 FiTZURSE. 
 
 Well, why not? I follow'd 
 You and the child : he babbled all the way. 
 Give her to me to make my honeymoon. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Ay, as the bears love honey. Could you keep her 
 Indungeon'd from one whisper of the wind, 
 Dark even from a side glance of the moon, 
 And-oublietted in the centre — No! 
 I follow out my hate and thy revenge. 
 
 Fitzurse. 
 
 You bad me take revenge another way — 
 
 To bring her to the dust. . . . Come with me, love, 
 
 And I will love thee. . . . Madam, let her live. 
 
 I have a far-off burrow where the King 
 
 Would miss her and for ever. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 How sayest thou, sweetheart? 
 Wilt thou go with him? he will marry thee.
 
 SCENE II. BECKET. l6l 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 Give me the poison; set me free of him! 
 
 [Eleanor offers the vial. 
 No, no ! I will not have it. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Then this other, 
 The wiser choice, because my sleeping-draught 
 May bloat thy beauty out of shape, and make 
 Thy body loathsome even to thy child; 
 While this but leaves thee with a broken heart, 
 A doll-face blanch'd and bloodless, over which 
 If pretty Geoffrey do not break his own, 
 It must be broken for him. 
 
 ROSAIVIUND. 
 
 O I see now 
 
 Your purpose is to fright me — a troubadour 
 You play with words. You had never used so many, 
 Not if you meant it, I am sure. The child . . . 
 No . . . mercy! No! {Kneels.) 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Play ! . . . that bosom never 
 Heaved under the King's hand with such true passion 
 As at this loveless knife that stirs the riot, 
 
 VOL. VI. M
 
 1 62 BECKET. ACT iv. 
 
 Which it will quench in blood ! Slave, if he love thee, 
 
 Thy life is worth the wrestle for it: arise, 
 
 And dash thyself against me that I may slay thee ! 
 
 The worm! shall I let her go? But ha! what's here? 
 
 By very God, the cross I gave the King! 
 
 His village darling in some lewd caress 
 
 Has wheedled it off the King's neck to her own. 
 
 By thy leave, beauty. Ay, the same ! I warrant 
 
 Thou hast sworn on this my cross a hundred times 
 
 Never to leave him — and that merits death. 
 
 False oath on holy cross — for thou must leave him 
 
 To-day, but not quite yet. My good Fitzurse, 
 
 The running down the chase is kindlier sport 
 
 Ev'n than the death. Who knows but that thy lover 
 
 May plead so pitifully, that I may spare thee? 
 
 Come hither, man; stand there. {^To Rosamund) 
 
 Take thy one chance; 
 Catch at the last straw. Kneel to thy lord Fitzurse; 
 Crouch even because thou hatest him; fawn upon 
 
 him 
 For thy life and thy son's. 
 
 Rosamund ( rising) . 
 
 I am a Clifford, 
 My son a Clifford and Plantagenet. 
 I am to die then, tho' there stand beside thee 
 One who might grapple with thy dagger, if he
 
 SCENE 11. 
 
 BECKET. 163 
 
 Had aught of man, or thou of woman ; or I 
 
 Would bow to such a baseness as would make me 
 
 Most worthy of it: both of us will die, 
 
 And I will fly with my sweet boy to heaven, 
 
 And shriek to all the saints among the stars : 
 
 'Eleanor of Aquitaine, Eleanor of England! 
 
 Murder'd by that adulteress Eleanor, 
 
 Whose doings are a horror to the east, 
 
 A hissing in the west! ' Have we not heard? 
 
 Raymond of Poitou, thine own uncle — nay, 
 
 Geoffrey Plantagenet, thine own husband's father — 
 
 Nay, ev'n the accursed heathen Saladdeen 
 
 Strike ! 
 
 I challenge thee to meet me before God. 
 
 Answer me there. 
 
 Eleanor {raising the dagger). 
 
 This in thy bosom, fool, 
 And after in thy bastard's! 
 
 Enter Becket from behind. Catches hold of her arm. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Murderess ! 
 {The dagger falls ; tKey stare at one another. 
 After a pause. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 My lord, we know you proud of your fine hand,
 
 l64 BECKET. ACT iv. 
 
 But having now admired it long enough, 
 We find that it is mightier than it seems — 
 At least mine own is frailer: you are laming it. 
 
 Becket. 
 And lamed and maim'd to dislocation, better 
 Than raised to take a life which Henry bad me 
 Guard from the stroke that dooms thee after death 
 To wail in deathless flame. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Nor you, nor I 
 Have now to learn, my lord, that our good Henry 
 Says many a thing in sudden heats, which he 
 Gainsays by next sunrising — often ready 
 To tear himself for having said as much. 
 My lord, Fitzurse 
 
 Becket. 
 
 He too ! what dost thou here ? 
 Dares the bear slouch into the lion's den? 
 One downward plunge of his paw would rend away 
 Eyesight and manhood, life itself, from thee. 
 Go, lest I blast thee with anathema, 
 And make thee a world's horror. 
 
 Fitzurse. 
 
 My lord, I shall 
 
 Remember this.
 
 f 
 
 SCENE II, BECKET. 165 
 
 Becket. 
 
 I do remember thee; 
 Lest I remember thee to the lion, go. 
 
 \_Exit FiTZURSE. 
 
 Take up your dagger; put it in the sheath. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Might not your courtesy stoop to hand it me? 
 But crowns must bow when mitres sit so high. 
 Well — well — too costly to be left or lost. 
 
 \_Picks up the dagger. 
 I had it from an Arab soldan, who, 
 When I was there in Antioch, marvell'd at 
 Our unfamiliar beauties of the west; 
 But wonder' d more at my much constancy 
 To the monk-king, Louis, our former burthen, 
 From whom, as being too kin, you know, my lord, 
 God's grace and Holy Church deliver' d us. 
 I think, time given, I could have talk'd him out of 
 His ten wives into one. Look at the hilt. 
 What excellent workmanship. In our poor west 
 We cannot do it so well. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 We can do worse. 
 Madam, I saw your dagger at her throat; 
 I heard your savage cry.
 
 1 66 BECKET. act iv. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 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 sa\age 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 Para- 
 mount, 
 Our great High-priest, will not your Holiness 
 Vouchsafe a gracious answer to your Queen? 
 
 Becket. 
 Rosamund hath not answer' d you one word;
 
 SCENE II. BECKET. 167 
 
 Madam, I will not answer you one word. 
 
 Daughter, the world hath trick'd thee. Leave it, 
 
 daughter ; 
 Come thou with me to Godstow 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. 
 
 \_Exeu7it 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 viat) t/iis-wa.s no 
 
 feint then? no. 
 But can I swear to that, had she but given 
 Plain answer to plain query? nay, methinks
 
 i68 BECKET. act iv. 
 
 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, — T 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.
 
 scene ii. becket. 169 
 
 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 Godstow-Becket intermeddling such 
 A strong hate-philtre as may madden him — madden 
 Against his priest beyond all hellebore.
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene I. — Castle in Normandy. King's Chafnber. 
 
 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. 
 
 170
 
 SCENE I. BECKET. 171 
 
 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
 
 172 BECKET. ACT v. 
 
 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. 
 
 What would ye have me do? 
 
 Roger of York. 
 Summon your barons ; take their counsel : yet 
 I know — could sweajtrrraslong as Becket breathes. 
 Your Grace will never have one quiet hour. 
 
 Henry. 
 What? . . . Ay . . . but pray you do not work upon me.
 
 SCENE I. BECKET. 173 
 
 I see your drift ... it may be so . . . and yet 
 You know me easily anger'd. Will you hence? 
 He shall absolve you . . . you shall have redress. 
 I have a dizzying headache. Let me rest. 
 I'll call you by and by. 
 
 \_Exeu7it Roger of York, Foliot, and Jocelyn 
 OF Salisbury. 
 Would he were dead ! I have lost all love for him. 
 If God would take him in some sudden way — 
 Would he were dead. \_Lies down. 
 
 Page {entering). 
 My liege, the Queen of England. 
 
 Henry. 
 God's eyes ! \Starting up, 
 
 Efiter Eleanor. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Of England ? Say of Aquitaine. 
 I am no Queen of England. I had dream'd 
 I was the bride of England, and a queen. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 And, — while you dream'd you were the bride of Eng- 
 land, — 
 Stirring her baby-king against me? ha!
 
 174 BECKET. ACT v. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 The brideless Becket is thy king and mine: 
 I will go live and die in Aquitaine. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 Except I clap thee into prison here, 
 Lest thou shouldst play the wanton there again. 
 Ha, you of Aquitaine ! O you of Aquitaine ! 
 You were but Aquitaine to Louis — no wife; 
 You are only Aquitaine to me — no wife. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 And why, my lord, should I be wife to one 
 That only wedded me for Aquitaine? 
 Yet this no wife — her six and thirty sail 
 Of Provence blew you to your English throne; 
 And this no wife has born you four brave sons. 
 And one of them at least is like to prove 
 Bigger in our small world than thou art. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 Ay- 
 
 Richard, if he be mine — I hope him mine. 
 But thou art like enough to make him thine. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Becket is like enough to make all his.
 
 SCENE I. BECKET. 175 
 
 Henry. 
 
 Methought I had recover' d of the Becket, 
 That all was planed and bevell'd smooth again, 
 Save for some hateful cantrip of thine own. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 I will go live and die in Aquitaine. 
 I dream 'd I was the consort of a king, 
 Not one whose back his priest has broken. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 What! 
 
 Is the end come? You, will you crown my foe 
 
 My victor in mid-battle? I will be 
 
 Sole master of my house. The end is mine. 
 
 What game, what juggle, what devilry are you 
 
 playing? 
 
 Why do you thrust this Becket on me again? 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Why? for I am true wife, and have my fears 
 Lest Becket thrust you even from your throne. 
 Do you know this cross, my liege? 
 
 Henry {turning his head). 
 
 Away ! Not I.
 
 176 becket. act v. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Not ev'n the central diamond, worth, I think, 
 Half of the Antioch whence I had it. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 That? 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 I gave it you, and you your paramour; 
 She sends it back, as being dead to earth, 
 So dead henceforth to you. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 Dead! you have murder' d her, 
 Found out her secret bower and murder' d her. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Your Becket knew the secret of your bower. 
 
 Henry {calling oui). 
 ' Ho there ! thy rest of life is hopeless prison. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 And what would my own Aquitaine say to that? 
 First, free thy captive from her hopeless prison.
 
 scene i. becket. 177 
 
 Henry. 
 
 devil, can I free her from the grave ? 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 You are too tragic : both of us are players 
 In such a comedy as our court of Provence 
 Had laugh'd at. That's a delicate Latin lay 
 Of Walter Map : the lady holds the cleric 
 Lovelier than any soldier, his poor tonsure 
 A crown of Empire. Will you have it again? 
 
 (^Offering the cross. He dashes it down.) 
 St. Cupid, that is too irreverent. 
 Then mine once more. {Puts it on.') 
 
 Your cleric hath your lady. 
 Nay, what uncomely faces, could he see you ! 
 Foam at the mouth because King Thomas, lord 
 Not only of your vassals but amours, ^ 
 
 Thro' chastest honour of the Decalogue 
 Hath used the full authority of his Church 
 To put her into Godstow nunnery. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 To put her into Godstow nunnery ! 
 
 He dared not — liar ! yet, yet I remember — 
 
 1 do remember. 
 
 He bad me put her into a nunnery — 
 
 VOL. VL N
 
 178 BECKET. ACT V. 
 
 Into Godstow, into Hellstow, Devilstow! 
 The Church ! the Church ! 
 
 God's eyes! I would the Church were down in hell! 
 
 {Exit. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Aha! 
 
 Enter the four Knights. 
 
 FiTZURSE. 
 
 What made the King cry out so furiously? 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Our Becket, who will not absolve the Bishops. 
 I think ye four have cause to love this Becket. 
 
 FiTZURSE. 
 
 I hate him for his insolence to all. 
 
 De Tracy. 
 And I for all his insolence to thee. 
 
 De Brito. 
 
 I hate him for I hate him is my reason, 
 And yet I hate him for a hypocrite.
 
 SCENE I. BECKET. 179 
 
 De Morville. 
 
 I do not love him, for he did his best 
 
 To break the barons, and now braves the King. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Strike, then, at once, the King would have him — See ! 
 
 Re-enter Henry. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 No man to love me, honour me, obey me! 
 
 Sluggards and fools ! 
 
 The slave that eat my bread has kick'd his King! 
 
 The dog I cramm'd with dainties worried me! 
 
 The fellow that on a lame jade came to court, 
 
 A ragged cloak for saddle — he, he, he. 
 
 To shake my throne, to push into my chamber — 
 
 My bed, where ev'n the slave is private — he — 
 
 I'll have her out again, he shall absolve 
 
 The bishops — they but did my will — not you — 
 
 Sluggards and fools, why do you stand and stare? 
 
 You are no king's men— you — you — you are Becket's 
 
 men. 
 Down with King Henry! up with the Archbishop! 
 Will no man free n^ from this pestilent priest? \_Exit. 
 [ The Knights draw their swords.
 
 l8o BECKET. ACT v. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Are ye king's men? I am king's woman, I. 
 
 The Knights. 
 King's men ! King's men ! 
 
 Scene II. — A Room in Canterbury Monastery. 
 Becket and John of Salisbury. 
 
 Becket. 
 York said so? 
 
 John of Salisbury. 
 
 Yes : a man may take good counsel 
 Ev'n from his foe. 
 
 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-anathematise 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 amnest}' 
 For foes at home — thou hast raised the world against 
 thee.
 
 SCENE 11. BECKET. i8i 
 
 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 thine enemies 
 
 Becket. 
 Ay, mine, not Heaven's, 
 
 John of Salisbury. 
 
 And may there not be something 
 Of this world's leaven in thee too, when crying 
 On Holy Church to thunder out her rights 
 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.
 
 1 82 BECKET. ACT v. 
 
 Yea, even when we know not, mix our spites 
 And private hates with our defence of Heaven. 
 
 \_Enter Edward Grim. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Thou art but yesterday from Cambridge, Grim; 
 What say ye there of Becket? 
 
 Grim. 
 
 /believe him 
 The bravest in our roll of Primates down 
 From Austin — there are some — for there are men 
 Of canker'd judgment everywhere 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Who hold 
 With York, with York against me. 
 
 Grim. 
 
 Well, my lord, 
 A stranger monk desires access to you. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 York against Canterbury, York against God ! 
 I am open to him. 
 
 \_Exii Grim.
 
 SCENE II. BECKET. 183 
 
 Enter Rosamund as a Monk. 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 Can I speak with you 
 Alone, my father? 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Come you to confess? 
 
 Rosamund. 
 Not now. 
 
 Becket. 
 Then speak; this is my other self, 
 Who like my conscience never lets me be. 
 
 Rosamund {throwing back the cowl). 
 I know him; our good John of Salisbury. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Breaking already from thy noviciate 
 
 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 noviciate, father. 
 Thro' all closed doors a dreadful whisper crept 
 That thou wouldst excommunicate the King.
 
 1 84 BECKET. act v. 
 
 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 once, 
 
 I told him I was bound to see the Archbishop; 
 
 'Pass on,' he said, and in thy name I pass'd 
 
 From house to house. In one a son stone-blind 
 
 Sat by his mother's hearth : he had gone too far 
 
 Into the King's own woods; and the poor mother. 
 
 Soon as she learnt I was a friend of thine, 
 
 Cried out against the cruelty of the King. 
 
 I said it was the King's courts, not the King; 
 
 But she would not believe me, and she wish'd 
 
 The Church were king : she had seen the Archbishop 
 
 once, 
 So mild, so kind. The people love thee, father. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Alas ! when I was Chancellor to the King, 
 I fear I was as cruel as the King. 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 Cruel? Oh, no — it is the law, not he; 
 The customs of the realm.
 
 SCENE 11. BECKET. 185 
 
 Becket. 
 
 The customs ! customs ! 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 My lord, you have not excommunicated him? 
 Oh, if you have, absolve him ! 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Daughter, daughter, 
 Deal not with things you know not, 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 I know him. 
 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 — Thomas, 
 You could not — old affection master'd you, 
 You falter' d into tears. 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 God bless him for it.
 
 i86 BECKET. act v. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Nay, make me not a woman, John of Salisbury, 
 Nor make me traitor to my holy ofifiice. 
 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 excommunicate him now? 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Daughter, my time is short, I shall not do it. 
 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 nunnery with all haste; 
 Let this be thy last trespass. But one question — 
 How fares thy pretty boy, the little Geoffrey ? 
 No fever, cough, croup, sickness? 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 No, but saved
 
 SCENE 11. BECKET. 187 
 
 From all that by our solitude. The 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. 
 
 Becket. 
 He is marvellously like thee. 
 
 Rosamund. 
 Liker the King. 
 
 Becket. 
 No, daughter. 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 Ay, but wait 
 Till his nose rises; he will be very king. 
 
 Becket. 
 Ev'n so : but think not of the King : farewell ! 
 
 Rosamund. 
 My lord, the city is full of armed men.
 
 i88 BECKET. act V- 
 
 'Becket. 
 Ev'n so : farewell ! 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 I will but pass to vespers, 
 And breathe one prayer for my liege-lord 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 seems 
 
 Foul as her dust-cloth, if she used it — one 
 
 So charged with tongue, that every thread of thought 
 
 Is broken ere it joins — a shrew to boot. 
 
 Whose evil song far on into the night 
 
 Thrills to the topmost tile — no hope but death; 
 
 One slow, fat, white, a burthen of the hearth; 
 
 And one that being thwarted ever swoons 
 
 And weeps herself into the place of power; 
 
 And one an uxor pauperis Ibyci.
 
 SCENE II. BECKET. 189 
 
 So rare the household honeymaking bee, 
 Man's help! but we, we have the Blessed Virgin 
 For worship, and our Mother Church for bride; 
 And all the souls we saved and father' d here 
 Will greet us as our babes in Paradise. 
 What noise was that? she told us of arm'd men 
 Here in the city. Will you not withdraw? 
 
 Becket. 
 
 I once was out with Henry in the days 
 When Henry loved me, and we came upon 
 A wild-fowl sitting on her nest, so still 
 I reach'd my hand and touch'd; she did not stir; 
 The snow had frozen round her, and she sat 
 Stone-dead upon a heap of ice-cold eggs. 
 Look! how this love, this mother, runs thro' all 
 The world God made — even the beast — the bird ! 
 
 John of Salisbury. 
 
 Ay, still a lover of the beast and bird? 
 
 But these arm'd men — will you not hide yourself? 
 
 Perchance the fierce De Brocs from Saltwood Castle 
 
 To assail our Holy Mother lest she brood 
 
 Too long o'er this hard egg, the world, and send 
 
 Her whole heart's heat into it, till it break 
 
 Into young angels. Pray you, hide yourself.
 
 190 BECKET. ACT v, 
 
 Becket. 
 
 There was a little fair-hair 'd Norman maid 
 Lived in my mother's house: if Rosamund is 
 The world's rose, as her name imports her — she 
 Was the world's lily. 
 
 John of Salisbury. 
 
 Ay, and what of her? 
 
 Becket. 
 She died of leprosy. 
 
 John of Salisbury. 
 
 I know not why 
 You call these old things back again, my lord. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 The drowning man, they say, remembers all 
 The chances of his life, just ere he dies. 
 
 John of Salisbury. 
 
 Ay — but these arm'd men — \v\W. you dxoyvn yourself ? 
 He loses half the meed of martyrdom 
 Who will be martyr when he might escape.
 
 scene 11. becket. 191 
 
 Becket. 
 What day of the week? Tuesday? 
 
 John of Salisbury. 
 
 Tuesday, my lord. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 On a Tuesday was I born, and on a Tuesday 
 
 Baptized; and on a Tuesday did I fly 
 
 Forth from Northampton; on a Tuesday pass'd 
 
 From England into bitter banishment; 
 
 On a Tuesday at Pontigny came to me 
 
 The ghostly warning of my martyrdom; 
 
 On a Tuesday from mine exile I return' d, 
 
 And on a Tuesday 
 
 [Tracy enters, then Fitzurse, De Brito, and 
 De Morville. Monks following. 
 
 — on a Tuesday Tracy ! 
 
 A long silence, broken by Fitzurse saying, contempt- 
 uously, 
 God help thee ! 
 
 John of Salisbury {aside). 
 
 How the good Archbishop reddens ! 
 He never yet could brook the note of scorn.
 
 192 BECKET. ACT V. 
 
 FiTZURSE. 
 
 My lord, we bring a message from the King 
 Beyond the water; will you have it alone, 
 Or with these listeners near you? 
 
 Becket. 
 
 As you will. 
 
 FiTZURSE. 
 
 Nay, as you will. 
 
 Becket. 
 Nay, as you will. 
 
 John of Salisbury. 
 
 Why then 
 Better perhaps to speak with them apart. 
 Let us withdraw. 
 
 [_Allgo out except the four Knights and Becket. 
 
 FiTZURSE. 
 
 We are all alone with him. 
 Shall I not smite him with his own cross-staff? 
 
 De Morville. 
 No, look ! the door is open : let him be.
 
 SCENE II. BECKET. 193 
 
 FiTZURSE. 
 
 The King condemns your excommunicating- 
 
 Becket. 
 
 This is no secret, but a public matter. 
 In here again ! 
 
 [John of Salisbury and Monks return. 
 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 mine 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 splendour of his crown 
 I fain would treble and quadruple it 
 
 VOL. VI. O
 
 194 BECKET. act v. 
 
 With revenues, realms, and golden provinces 
 So that were done in equity. 
 
 FiTZURSE. 
 
 You have broken 
 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 bond-breaking 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.
 
 scene 11. becket. 195 
 
 Becket. 
 
 I? 
 
 Not I, the Pope. Ask him for absolution. 
 
 FiTZURSE. 
 
 But you advised the Pope. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 And so I did. 
 They have but to submit. 
 
 The Four Knights. 
 
 The King commands you. 
 
 We are all King's men. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 King's men at least should know 
 That their own King closed with me last July 
 That I should pass the censures of the Church 
 On those that crown' d young Henry in this realm, 
 And trampled on the rights of Canterbury. 
 
 FiTZURSE. 
 
 What! dare you charge the King with treachery? 
 
 He sanction thee to excommunicate 
 
 The prelates whom he chose to crown his son !
 
 196 BECKET. ACT v. 
 
 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. 
 
 I saw you there. 
 
 FiTZURSE. 
 
 I was not. 
 Becket. 
 
 You were. I never forget anything. 
 
 FiTZURSE. 
 
 He makes the King a traitor, me a liar. 
 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
 
 SCENE II. BECKET. 197 
 
 Are braced and brazen' d up with Christmas wines 
 For any murderous brawl. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 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 tenants, 
 
 Lifted our produce, driven our clerics out — 
 
 Why they, your friends, those 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 sumpter-mule. 
 
 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 
 
 De Morville. 
 
 Why not rather then, 
 If this be so, complain to your young King, 
 Not punish of your own authority? 
 
 Becket. 
 Mine enemies barr'd all access to the boy. 
 They knew he loved me. 
 
 Hugh, Hugh, how proudly you exalt your head ! 
 Nay, when they seek to overturn our rights,
 
 198 BECKET. ACT V. 
 
 I ask no leave of king, or mortal man, 
 To set them straight again. Alone I do it. 
 Give to the King the things that are the King's, 
 And those of God to God. 
 
 FlTZURSE. 
 
 Threats ! threats ! ye hear him. 
 What ! will he excommunicate all the world ? 
 
 \The Knights come round Becket. 
 
 De Tracy. 
 He shall not. 
 
 De Brito. 
 
 Well, as yet — I should be grateful — 
 He hath not excommunicated me. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Because thou wast born excommunicate. 
 I never spied in thee one gleam of grace. 
 
 De Brito. 
 Your Christian's Christian charity! 
 
 Becket. 
 
 By St. Denis- 
 
 De Brito. 
 
 Ay, by St. Denis, now will he flame out, 
 And lose his head as old St. Denis did.
 
 SCENE II. BECKET. 199 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Ye think to scare me from my loyalty 
 
 To God and to the Holy Father. No ! 
 
 Tho' all the swords in England flash'd above me 
 
 Ready to fall at Henry's word or yours — 
 
 Tho' all the loud-lung'd trumpets upon earth 
 
 Blared from the heights of all the thrones of her kings, 
 
 Blowing the world against me, I would stand 
 
 Clothed with the full authority of Rome, 
 
 Mail'd in the perfect panoply of faith, 
 
 First of the foremost of their files, who die 
 
 For God, to people heaven in the great day 
 
 When God makes up his jewels. Once I fled— 
 
 Never again, and you — I marvel at you — 
 
 Ye know what is between us. Ye have sworn 
 
 Yourselves my men when I was Chancellor — 
 
 My vassals — and yet threaten your Archbishop 
 
 In his own house. 
 
 Knights. 
 
 Nothing can be between us 
 . That goes against our fealty to the King. 
 
 FiTZURSE. 
 
 And in his name we charge you that ye keep 
 This traitor from escaping.
 
 200 becket. act v. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Rest you easy, 
 For I am easy to keep. I shall not fly. 
 Here, here, here will you find me. 
 
 De Morville. 
 
 Know you not 
 You have spoken to the peril of your life ? 
 
 Becket. 
 As I shall speak again. 
 
 FiTZURSE, De Tr.'^cy, and De Brito. 
 
 To arms ! 
 {_They rusk out, De Morville lingers. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 De Morville, 
 I had thought so well of you; and even now 
 You seem the least assassin of the four. 
 Oh, do not damn yourself for company ! 
 Is it too late for me to save your soul? 
 I pray you for one moment stay and speak. 
 
 De Morville. 
 Becket, it is too late. \_Exit,
 
 SCENE II. BECKET. aoi 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Is it too late? 
 Too late on earth may be too soon in hell. 
 
 Knights {in the distance). 
 Close the great gate — ho, there — upon the town. 
 
 Becket's Retainers. 
 
 Shut the hall-doors. \_A pause. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 You hear them, brother John; 
 Why do you stand so silent, brother John? 
 
 John of Salisbury. 
 
 For I was musing on an ancient saw, 
 
 Suaviter in modo,fortiter in re, 
 
 Is strength less strong when hand- in-hand with grace? 
 
 Gratior in pulchro corpore virtus. Thomas, 
 
 Why should you heat yourself for such as these ? 
 
 Becket. 
 Methought I answer' d moderately enough. 
 
 John of Salisbury. 
 As one that blows the coal to cool the fire.
 
 202 BECKET. ACT V. 
 
 My lord, I marvel why you never lean 
 On any man's advising but your own. 
 
 Becket. 
 Is it so, Dan John? well, what should I have done? 
 
 John of Salisbury. 
 
 You should have taken counsel with your friends 
 Before these bandits brake into your presence. 
 They seek — you make — occasion for your death. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 My counsel is already taken, John. 
 I am prepared to die. 
 
 John of Salisbury. 
 
 We are sinners all, 
 The best of all not all-prepared to die. 
 
 Becket. 
 God's will be done ! 
 
 John of Salisbury. 
 
 Ay, well. God's will be done! 
 
 Grim {re-entering). 
 
 My lord, the knights are arming in the garden 
 Beneath the sycamore.
 
 scene ii. becket. 203 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Good ! let them arm. 
 
 Grim. 
 
 And one of the De Brocs is with them, Robert, 
 The apostate monk that was with Randulf here. 
 He knows the twists and turnings of the place. 
 
 Becket. 
 No fear! 
 
 Grim. 
 
 No fear, my lord. 
 \_Crashes on the hall-doors. The Monks y?^(r. 
 
 Becket (rising). 
 
 Our dovecote flown ! 
 I cannot tell why monks should all be cowards. 
 
 John of Salisbury. 
 Take refuge in your own cathedral, Thomas. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Do they not fight the Great Fiend day by day? 
 Valour and holy life should go together. 
 Why should all monks be cowards?
 
 204 BECKET. act v. 
 
 John of Salisbury. 
 
 Are they so ? 
 I say, take refuge in your own cathedral. 
 
 Becket. 
 Ay, but I told them I would wait them here. 
 
 Grim. 
 
 May they not say you dared not show yourself 
 In your old place ? and vespers are beginning. 
 
 [i?. // rings for vespers till end of sce?ie. 
 You should attend the office, give them heart. 
 They fear you slain : they dread they know not what. 
 
 Becket. 
 Ay, monks, not men. 
 
 Grim. 
 
 I am a monk, my lord. 
 Perhaps, my lord, you wrong us. 
 Some would stand by you to the death. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Your pardon. 
 
 John of Salisbury. 
 He said, 'Attend the office.'
 
 SCENE II. BECKET. 205 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Attend the office? 
 Why then — The Cross ! — who bears my Cross before 
 
 me? 
 Methought they would have brain'd me with it, John. 
 
 [Grim takes it. 
 Grim. 
 
 I ! Would that I could bear thy cross indeed ! 
 
 Becket. 
 The Mitre ! 
 
 John of Salisbury. 
 Will you wear it? — there ! 
 
 [Becket /z^/f on the mitre. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 The Pall ! 
 
 I go to meet my King ! {Puts on the pall. 
 
 Grim. 
 
 To meet the King? 
 [ Crashes on the doors as they go out. 
 
 John of Salisbury. 
 
 Why do you move with such a stateliness? 
 Can you not hear them yonder like a storm, 
 Battering the doors, and breaking thro' the walls?
 
 2o6 BECKET. act v. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Why do the heathen rage? My two good friends, 
 What matters murder' d here, or murder' d there? 
 And yet my dream foretold my martyrdom 
 In mine own church. It is God's will. Go on. 
 Nay, drag me not. We must not seem to fly. 
 
 Scene III. — North Transept of Canterbury Cathe- 
 dral. On the right hand a flight of steps leading 
 to the Choir, another flight on the left, leading 
 to the North Aisle. Winter afternoon sloivly 
 darkening. Low thutider now and then of an 
 approaching storm. Monks heard chanting the 
 service. Rosamund kneeling. 
 
 ROSAMUNT). 
 
 O blessed saint, O glorious Benedict, — 
 
 These arm'd men in the city, these fierce faces — 
 
 Thy holy follower founded Canterbury — 
 
 Save that dear head which now is Canterbury, 
 
 Save him, he saved my life, he saved my child, 
 
 Save him, his blood would darken Henry's name; 
 
 Save him till all as saintly as thyself 
 
 He miss the searching flame of purgatory, 
 
 And pass at once perfect to Paradise. 
 
 \Noise of steps and voices in the cloisters.
 
 SCENE III. BECKET. 207 
 
 Hark! Is it they? Coming! He is not here — 
 Not yet, thank heaven. O save him ! 
 
 [ Goes lip steps leading to choir. 
 
 Becket {^entering, f^>rctd along by ^Qvm of Salis- 
 bury a?id Grim). 
 
 No, I tell you ! 
 I cannot bear a hand upon my person, 
 Why do you force me thus against my will? 
 
 Grim, 
 My lord, we force you from your enemies. 
 
 Becket. 
 As you would force a king from being crown' d. 
 
 John of Salisbury. 
 
 We must not force the crown of martyrdom. 
 
 \_Se mice stops. M.O'sks come down fro tn the stairs 
 that lead to the choir. 
 
 Monks. 
 
 Here is the great Archbishop ! He lives ! he lives ! 
 Die with him, and be glorified together. 
 
 Becket. 
 Together? . . . get you back! go on with the office.
 
 2o8 BECKET. ACT v. 
 
 Monks. 
 Come, then, with us to vespers. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 How can I come 
 When you so block the entry? Back, I say! 
 Go on with the office. Shall not Heaven be served 
 Tho' earth's last earthquake clash'd the minster-bells, 
 And the great deeps were broken up again, 
 And hiss'd against the sun? \_Noise in the cloisters. 
 
 Monks. 
 
 The murderers, hark! 
 Let us hide ! let us hide ! 
 
 Becket. 
 
 What do these people fear? 
 
 Monks. 
 Those arm'd men in the cloister. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Be not such cravens ! 
 I will go out and meet them.
 
 SCENE III. BECKET. 209 
 
 Grim and others. 
 
 Shut the doors ! 
 We will not have him slain before our face. 
 
 \They close the doors of the transept. Knocking. 
 Fly, fly, my lord, before they burst the doors ! 
 
 \_Knocking. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Why, these are our own monks who follow'd us! 
 And will you bolt them out, and have them slain? 
 Undo the doors : the church is not a castle : 
 Knock, and it shall be open'd. Are you deaf? 
 What, have I lost authority among you? 
 Stand by, make way ! 
 
 \_Opens the doors. Enter Monks from cloister. 
 Come in, my friends, come in ! 
 Nay, faster, faster! 
 
 Monks. 
 
 Oh, my lord Archbishop, 
 A score of knights all arm'd with swords and axes — 
 To the choir, to the choir! 
 
 Monks divide, part flying by the stairs on the right, 
 part by those on the left. The rush of these 
 last bears Becket along with thetn some way 
 up the steps, where he is left standing alone. 
 VOL. VI. ._ .la^jLji^ S'-!«J'ji-\i
 
 2IO BECKET. ACT V. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Shall I too pass to the choir, 
 And die upon the Patriarchal throne 
 Of all my predecessors? 
 
 John of Salisbury. 
 
 No, to the crypt! 
 Twenty steps down. Stumble not in the darkness. 
 Lest they should seize thee. 
 
 Grim. 
 
 To the crypt? no — no. 
 To the chapel of St. Blaise beneath the roof ! 
 
 John OF Salisbury {^pointing upward and downward). 
 That way, or this ! Save thyself either way. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Oh, no, not either way, nor any way 
 
 Save by that way which leads thro' night to light. 
 
 Not twenty steps, but one. 
 
 And fear not I should stumble in the darkness. 
 
 Not tho' it be their hour, the power of darkness. 
 
 But my hour too, the power of light in darkness! 
 
 I am not in the darkness but the light,
 
 SCENE III. BECKET. 211 
 
 Seen by the Church in Heaven, the Church on earth — 
 The power of life in death to make her free ! 
 
 {Enter the four Knights. John of Salisbury 
 flies to the altar of St. Benedict. 
 
 FiTZURSE. 
 
 Here, here, King's men! 
 
 \_Catches hold of the last flying Monk. 
 Where is the traitor Becket? 
 
 Monk. 
 
 I am not he ! I am not he, my lord. 
 I am not he indeed ! 
 
 FiTZURSE. 
 
 Hence to the fiend ! 
 
 \^Pushes him away. 
 Where is this treble traitor to the King? 
 
 De Tr.\cy. 
 Where is the Archbishop, Thomas Becket? 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Here. 
 
 No traitor to the King, but Priest of God, 
 
 Primate of England. {Descending into the transept 
 
 I am he ye seek. 
 
 What would ye have of me?
 
 212 BECKET. ACTV. 
 
 FiTZURSE. 
 
 Your life. 
 
 Your life. 
 
 De Tracy. 
 
 De Morville. 
 Save that you will absolve the bishops. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Never, — 
 
 Except they make submission to the Church. 
 
 You had my answer to that cry before. 
 
 De Morville. 
 Why, then you are a dead man; flee! 
 
 Becket. 
 
 I will not. 
 
 I am readier to be slain, than thou to slay. 
 
 Hugh, I know well thou hast but half a heart 
 
 To bathe this sacred pavement with my blood. 
 
 God pardon thee and these, but God's full curse 
 
 Shatter you all to pieces if ye harm 
 
 One of my flock 1 
 
 FiTZURSE. 
 
 Was not the great gate shut?
 
 SCENE III. BECKET. 213 
 
 They are thronging in to vespers — half the town. 
 We shall be overwhelm'd. Seize him and carry him! 
 Come with us — nay — thou art our prisoner — come ! 
 
 De Morville. 
 
 Ay, make him prisoner, do not harm the man. 
 
 [FiTZURSE lays hold of the Archbishop's pall. 
 
 Becket. 
 Touch me not ! 
 
 De Brito. 
 
 How the good priest gods himself ! 
 He is not yet ascended to the Father. 
 
 FiTZURSE. 
 
 I will not only touch, but drag thee hence. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Thou art my man, thou art my vassal. Away! 
 
 {Flings him off till he reels, almost to falling. 
 
 De Tr.'^cy {lays hold of the pall). 
 Come; as he said, thou art our prisoner. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Down! 
 
 {Throws him headlong.
 
 214 BECKET. ACTV. 
 
 FiTZURSE {advances with drawn sword'), 
 I told thee that I should remember thee ! 
 
 Becket. 
 Profligate pander! 
 
 FiTZURSE. 
 
 Do you hear that? strike, strike. 
 [Strikes off the Archbishop's mitre, and wounds 
 him in the forehead. 
 
 Becket (covers his eyes with his hand). 
 
 I do commend my cause to God, the Virgin, 
 St. Denis of France and St. Alphege of England, 
 And all the tutelar Saints of Canterbury. 
 
 [Grim wraps his arms about the Archbishop. 
 Spare this defence, dear brother. 
 
 [Tracy has arisen, and approaches, hesitatingly, 
 with his sword raised. 
 
 FiTZURSE. 
 
 Strike him, Tracy! 
 
 Rosamund {rushing down steps from the choir). 
 No, No, No, No!
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 Hold her away. 
 
 BECKET. 215 
 
 FiTZURSE. 
 
 This wanton here. De Morville, 
 
 De Morville. 
 I hold her. 
 
 Rosamund {Jield back by De Morville, and 
 stretchmg out her arms). 
 
 Mercy, mercy, 
 As you would hope for mercy. 
 
 FiTZURSE. 
 
 Strike, I say. 
 
 Grim. 
 
 O God, O noble knights, O sacrilege ! 
 
 Strike our Archbishop in his own cathedral i 
 
 The Pope, the King, will curse you— the whole world 
 
 Abhor you; ye will die the death of dogs! 
 
 Nay, nay, good Tracy. {.Lifts his arm. 
 
 FiTZURSE. 
 
 Answer not, but strike.
 
 2i6 BECKET. ACTV. 
 
 De Tracy. 
 
 There is my answer then. 
 
 {Sword falls on Grim's arm^ and glances from 
 it, wounding Becket. 
 
 Grim. 
 
 Mine arm is sever'd. 
 I can no more — fight out the good fight — die 
 Conqueror. \Staggers into the chapel of St. Benedict. 
 
 Becket (^falling on his knees). 
 
 At the right hand of Power — 
 Power and great glory — for thy Church, O Lord — 
 
 Into Thy hands, O Lord — into Thy hands ! 
 
 [Sinks prone. 
 
 De Brito. 
 
 This last to rid thee of a world of brawls ! {Kills him.) 
 The traitor's dead, and will arise no more. 
 
 FiTZURSE. 
 
 Nay, have we still'd him? What! the great Arch- 
 bishop ! 
 Does he breathe? No?
 
 scene iii. becket. 217 
 
 De Tracy. 
 
 No, Reginald, he is dead. 
 {Storm bursts.y- 
 De Morville. 
 Will the earth gape and swallow us? 
 
 De Brito. 
 
 The deed's done — 
 Away! 
 
 [De Brito, De Tracy, Fitzurse, rush out, cry- 
 ing 'King's fnen!' De Morville follows 
 slowly. Flashes of lightning thro'' the Cathe- 
 dral, Rosamund seen kneeling by the body of 
 Becket. 
 
 ^ A tremendous thunderstorm actually broke over the Cathe- 
 dral as the tnurderers were leaving it. 
 
 /
 
 THE FALCON,
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 The Count Federigo degli Alberighi. 
 FiLlPPO, Count's foster-brother. 
 The Lady Giovanna. 
 Elisabetta, the Count's num.
 
 THE FALCON. 
 
 Scene. — An Italian Cottage. Castle and Mou?itatns 
 seen through Window. 
 
 Elisabetta discovered seated on stool in window darning. 
 The Count with Falcon on his hand comes down through 
 the door at back. A withered wreath on the wall. 
 
 Elisabetta. 
 
 So, my lord, the Lady Giovanna, who hath been away 
 so long, came back last night with her son to the castle. 
 
 Count. 
 
 Hear that, my bird! Art thou not jealous of her? 
 My princess of the cloud, my plumed purveyor, 
 My far-eyed queen of the winds — thou that canst soar 
 Beyond the morning lark, and howsoe'er 
 Thy quarry wind and wheel, swoop down upon him 
 Eagle-like, lightning-like — strike, make his feathers 
 Glance in mid heaven. \_Crosses to chair. 
 
 I would thou hadst a mate ! 
 Thy breed will die with thee, and mine with me : 
 I am as lone and loveless as thyself. \_Sits in chair. 
 
 22,1
 
 27.2 THE FALCON. 
 
 Giovanna here! Ay, ruffle thyself— ^^ jealous! 
 
 Thou should' St be jealous of her. Tho' I bred thee 
 
 The fuU-train'd marvel of all falconry, 
 
 And love thee and thou me, yet if Giovanna 
 
 Be here again — No, no ! Buss me, my bird ! 
 
 The stately widow has no heart for me. 
 
 Thou art the last friend left me upon earth — 
 
 No, no again to that. \_Rises and turns. 
 
 My good old nurse, 
 I had forgotten thou wast sitting there. 
 
 Elisabetta. 
 Ay, and forgotten thy foster-brother too. 
 
 Count. 
 
 Bird-babble for my falcon ! Let it pass. 
 What art thou doing there ? 
 
 Elisabetta. 
 
 Darning your lordship. 
 We cannot flaunt it in new feathers now : 
 Nay, if we will huy diamond necklaces 
 To please our lady, we must darn, my lord. 
 This old thing here (points to necklace round herneck), 
 
 they are but blue beads — my Piero, 
 God rest his honest soul, he bought 'em for me, 
 Ay, but he knew I meant to marry him.
 
 THE FALCON. 223 
 
 How couldst thou do it, my son? How couldst thou 
 do it? 
 
 Count. 
 
 She saw it at a dance, upon a neck 
 
 Less lovely than her own, and long'd for it. 
 
 Elisabetta. 
 She told thee as much? 
 
 Count. 
 No, no — a friend of hers. 
 
 Elisabetta. 
 
 Shame on her that she took it at thy hands, 
 She rich enough to have bought it for herself ! 
 
 Count. 
 She would have robb'd me then of a great pleasure. 
 
 Elisabetta. 
 But hath she yet return' d thy love? 
 
 Count. 
 
 Not yet ! 
 
 Elisabetta. 
 She should return thy necklace then.
 
 224 THE FALCON. 
 
 Count. 
 
 Ay, if 
 
 She knew the giver; but I bound the seller 
 
 To silence, and I left it privily 
 
 At Florence, in her palace. 
 
 Elisabetta. 
 
 And sold thine own 
 . . rv it for her. She not know? She knows 
 There's none such other 
 
 Count. 
 
 Madman .nywhere. 
 
 Speak freely, tho' to call a madman mad 
 
 Will hardly help to make him sane again. 
 
 Enter Filippo. 
 
 FiLIPPO. 
 
 Ah, the women, the women ! Ah, Monna Giovanna, 
 you here again ! you that have the face of an angel 
 and the heart of a — that's too positive! You that 
 have a score of lovers and have not a heart for any of 
 them — that's positive-negative: you that have ;;<7/the 
 head of a toad, and «^/a heart like the jewel in it — 
 that's too negative; you that have a cheek like a 
 peach and a heart like the stone in it — that's posi- 
 tive again — that's better!
 
 THE FALCON. 225 
 
 Elisabetta. 
 Sh — sh — Filippo ! 
 
 FiLiPPO (ttirns half round). 
 Here has our master been a-glorifying and a-velvet- 
 ing and a-silking himself, and a-peacocking and a- 
 spreading to catch her eye for a dozen year, till he 
 hasn't an eye left in his own tail to flourish among 
 the peahens, and all along o' you, Monna Giovanna, 
 all along o' you ! 
 
 Elisabetta. 
 Sh — sh — Filippo! Can't you hear that you are 
 saying behind his back what you see you are saying 
 afore his face? 
 
 Count. 
 Let him — he never spares me to my face ! 
 
 Filippo. 
 
 No, my lord, I never spare your lordship to your 
 
 lordship's face, nor behind your lordship's back, nor to 
 
 right, nor to left, nor to round about and back to your 
 
 lordship's face again, for I'm honest, your lordship. 
 
 Count. 
 Come, come, Filippo, what is there in the larder? 
 [Elisabetta crosses to fireplace and puts on wood. 
 
 VOL. VI. Q
 
 226 THE FALCON. 
 
 FiLIPPO. 
 
 Shelves and hooks, shelves and hooks, and when I 
 see the shelves I am like to hang myself on the hooks. 
 
 Count. 
 No bread? 
 
 FiLIPPO. 
 
 Half a breakfast for a rat ! 
 
 Count. 
 Milk? 
 
 FiLIPPO. 
 
 Three laps for a cat ! 
 
 Count. 
 Cheese ? 
 
 FiLIPPO. 
 
 A supper for twelve mites. 
 
 Count. 
 Eggs? 
 
 FiLIPPO. 
 
 One, but addled. 
 
 Count. 
 No bird?
 
 THE FALCON. 227 
 
 FiLIPPO. 
 
 Half a tit and a hern's bill. 
 
 Count. 
 
 Let be thy jokes and thy jerks, man! Anything 
 or nothing? 
 
 FiLIPPO. 
 
 Well, my lord, if all-but-nothing be anything, and 
 one plate of dried prunes be all-but-nothing, then there 
 is anything in your lordship's larder at your lordship's 
 service, if your lordship care to call for it. 
 
 Count. 
 
 Good mother, happy was the prodigal son, 
 
 For he return' d to the rich father; I 
 
 But add my poverty to thine. And all 
 
 Thro' following of my fancy. Pray thee make 
 
 Thy slender meal out of those scraps and shreds 
 
 Filippo spoke of. As for him and me. 
 
 There sprouts a salad in the garden still. 
 
 {To the Falcon.^ Why didst thou miss thy quarry 
 
 yester-even? 
 To-day, my beauty, thou must dash us down 
 Our dinner from the skies. Away, Filippo ! 
 
 \_Exit, followed by Filippo.
 
 228 THE FALCON. 
 
 Elisabetta. 
 
 I knew it would come to this. She has beggared 
 him. I always knew it would come to this ! ( Goes up to 
 table as if to resume darning, and looks out of window.) 
 Why, as I live, there is Monna Giovanna coming 
 down the hill from the castle. Stops and stares at our 
 cottage. Ay, ay! stare at it: it's all you have left 
 us. Shame upon you ! She beautiful 1 sleek as a 
 miller's mouse! Meal enough, meat enough, well 
 fed; but beautiful — bah! Nay, see, why she turns 
 down the path through our little vineyard, and I 
 sneezed three times this morning. Coming to visit 
 my lord, for the first time in her life too • Why, 
 bless the saints ! I'll be bound to confess her love 
 to him at last. I forgive her, I forgive her ! I knew 
 it would come to this — I always knew it must come 
 to this! {Going up to door during latter part of 
 speech and opem it.) Come in, Madonna, come in. 
 {Retires to frotit of table and curtseys as the Lady 
 Giovanna enters, then moves chair towards the hearth. ) 
 Nay, let me place this chair for your ladyship. 
 
 [Lady Giovanna moves slowly down stage, then crosses 
 to chair, looking about her, bows as she sees the 
 Madonna over fireplace , then sits in chair. 
 
 Lady Giovanna. 
 Can I speak with the Count?
 
 THE FALCON. 229 
 
 Elisabetta. 
 
 Ay, my lady, but won't you speak with the old 
 woman first, and tell her all about it and make her 
 happy? for I've been on my knees every day for these 
 half-dozen years in hope that the saints would send 
 us this blessed morning; and he always took you so 
 kindly, he always took the world so kindly. When he 
 was a little one, and I put the bitters on my breast to 
 wean him, he made a wry mouth at it, but he took it so 
 kindly, and your ladyship has given him bitters enough 
 in this world, and he never made a wry mouth at you, 
 he always took you so kindly — which is more than I 
 did, my lady, more than I did — and he so handsome 
 — and bless your sweet face, you look as beautiful this 
 morning as the very Madonna her own self — and 
 better late than never — but come when they will — 
 then or now — it's all for the best, come when they 
 will — they are made by the blessed saints — these 
 
 ° ■ \_Raises her hands. 
 
 Lady Giovantsta. 
 Marriages ? I shall never marry again ! 
 
 Elisabetta {rises and fiirns). 
 Shame on her then !
 
 230 THE FALCON. 
 
 Lady Giovanna. 
 Where is the Count? 
 
 Elisabetta. 
 
 Just gone 
 
 To fly his falcon. 
 
 Lady Giovanna. 
 
 Call him back and say 
 I come to breakfast with him. 
 
 Elisabetta. 
 
 Holy mother ! 
 To breakfast ! Oh sweet saints ! one plate of prunes ! 
 Well, Madam, I will give your message to him. 
 
 \_Exit. 
 
 Lady Giovanna. 
 
 His falcon, and I come to ask for his falcon. 
 The pleasure of his eyes — boast of his hand — 
 Pride of his heart — the solace of his hours — 
 His one companion here — nay, I have heard 
 That, thro' his late magnificence of living 
 And this last costly gift to mine own self, 
 
 \_Sho'ws diamond necklace. 
 He hath become so beggar' d, that his falcon 
 Ev'n wins his dinner for him in the field.
 
 THE FALCON. 231 
 
 That must be talk, not truth, but truth or talk, 
 How can I ask for his falcon? 
 
 \Rises and moves as she speaks. 
 O my sick boy ! 
 My daily fading Florio, it is thou 
 Hath set me this hard task, for when I say 
 What can I do — what can I get for thee ? 
 He answers, 'Get the Count to give me his falcon, 
 And that will make me well.' Yet if I ask, 
 He loves me, and he knows I know he loves me ! 
 Will he not pray me to return his love — 
 To marry him? — {pause) — I can never marry him. 
 His grandsire struck my grandsire in a brawl 
 At Florence, and my grandsire stabb'd him there. 
 The feud between our houses is the bar 
 I cannot cross; I dare not brave my brother. 
 Break with my kin. My brother hates him, scorns 
 The noblest-natured man alive, and I — 
 Who have that reverence for him that I scarce 
 Dare beg him to receive his diamonds back — 
 How can I, dare I, ask him for his falcon? 
 
 \_Puts diamonds in her casket 
 
 Re-enter Count and Filippo. Count turns 
 to Filippo. 
 
 Count. 
 Do what I said; I cannot do it myself.
 
 232 THE FALCON. 
 
 FiLIPPO. 
 
 Why then, my lord, we are pauper 'd out and out. 
 
 Count. 
 
 Do what I said ! \_Advances and bows low. 
 
 Welcome to this poor cottage, my dear lady. 
 
 Lady Giovanna. 
 And welcome turns a cottage to a palace. 
 
 Count. 
 'Tis long since we have met! 
 
 Lady Giovanna. 
 
 To make amends 
 I come this day to break my fast with you. 
 
 Count. 
 
 I am much honour'd — yes — \_Ttirns to Filippo. 
 
 Do what I told thee. Must I do it myself? 
 
 Filippo. 
 I will, I will. {Sighs.) Poor fellow! \_Exit. 
 
 Count. 
 
 Lady, you bring your light into my cottage 
 Who never deign'd to shine into my palace.
 
 THE FALCON. 233 
 
 My palace wanting you was but a cottage ; 
 My cottage, while you grace it, is a palace. 
 
 Lady Giovanna. 
 
 In cottage or in palace, being still 
 
 Beyond your fortunes, you are still the king 
 
 Of courtesy and liberality. 
 
 Count. 
 I trust I still maintain my courtesy; 
 My liberality perforce is dead 
 Thro' lack of means of giving. 
 
 Lady Giovanna. 
 
 Yet I come 
 To ask a gift. \_Moves toward him a little. 
 
 Count. 
 It will be hard, I fear, 
 To find one shock upon the field when all 
 The harvest has been carried. 
 
 Lady Giovanna. 
 
 But my boy — 
 {Aside.) No, no! not yet— I cannot! 
 
 Count. 
 
 Ay, how is he, 
 
 That bright inheritor of your eyes— your boy?
 
 234 THE FALCON. 
 
 Lady Giovanna. 
 
 Alas, my Lord Federigo, he hath fallen 
 Into a sickness, and it troubles me. 
 
 Count. 
 Sick! is it so? why, when he came last year 
 To see me hawking, he was well enough : 
 And then I taught him all our hawking-phrases. 
 
 Lady Giovanna. 
 Oh yes, and once you let him fly your falcon. 
 
 Count. 
 
 How charm'd he was! what wonder? — A gallant boy, 
 A noble bird, each perfect of the breed. 
 
 Lady Giovanna {sinks in chair). 
 What do you rate her at? 
 
 Count. 
 
 My bird? a hundred 
 Gold pieces once were offer' d by the Duke. 
 I had no heart to part with her for money. 
 
 Lady Giovanna. 
 
 No, not for money. [Count turns away and sighs. 
 
 Wherefore do you sigh?
 
 THE FALCON. 235 
 
 Count. 
 I have lost a friend of late. 
 
 Lady Giovanna. 
 
 I could sigh with you 
 For fear of losing more than friend, a son; 
 And if he leave me— all the rest of life— 
 That wither' d wreath were of more worth to me. 
 
 \_Looking at wreath on wall. 
 
 Count. 
 
 That wither' d wreath is of more worth to me 
 Than all the blossom, all the leaf of this 
 New-wakening year. [ Goes and takes down wreath. 
 
 Lady Giovanna. 
 
 And yet I never saw 
 The land so rich in blossom as this year. 
 
 Count {holding wreath toward her). 
 Was not the year when this was gather' d richer? 
 
 Lady Giovanna. 
 How long ago was that? 
 
 Count. 
 
 Alas, ten summers !
 
 236 THE FALCON. 
 
 A lady that was beautiful as day 
 
 Sat by me at a rustic festival 
 
 With other beauties on a mountain meadow, 
 
 And she was the most beautiful of all; 
 
 Then but fifteen, and still as beautiful. 
 
 The mountain flowers grew thickly round about. 
 
 I made a wreath with some of these; I ask'd 
 
 A ribbon from her hair to bind it with; 
 
 I whisper'd, Let me crown you Queen of Beauty, 
 
 And softly placed the chaplet on her head. 
 
 A colour, which has colour' d all my life, 
 
 Flush'd in her face; then I was call'd away; 
 
 And presently all rose, and so departed. 
 
 Ah ! she had thrown my chaplet on the grass, 
 
 And there I found it. 
 
 \_Lets his hands fall, holding wreath despondingly. 
 
 Lady Giovanna {after pause). 
 
 How long since do you say? 
 
 Count. 
 That was the very year before you married. 
 
 Lady Giovanna. 
 When I was married you were at the wars.
 
 THE FALCON. 237 
 
 Count. 
 
 Had she not thrown my chaplet on the grass, 
 It may be I had never seen the wars. 
 
 \_Replaces wreath whence he had taken it. 
 
 Lady Giovanna. 
 
 Ah, but, my lord, there ran a rumour then 
 That you were kill'd in battle, I can tell you 
 True tears that year were shed for you in Florence. 
 
 Count. 
 
 It might have been as well for me. Unhappily 
 I was but wounded by the enemy there 
 And then imprison' d. 
 
 Lady Giovanna. 
 
 Happily, however, 
 I see you quite recover' d of your wound. 
 
 Count. 
 No, no, not quite, Madonna, not yet, not yet. 
 
 Re-enter Filippo. 
 
 FiLIPPO. 
 
 My lord, a word with you.
 
 238 THE FALCON. 
 
 Count. 
 
 Pray, pardon me ! 
 [Lady Giovanna crosses, and passes behind chair 
 and takes down wreath ; then goes to chair by 
 table. 
 
 Count (Jo Filippo). 
 What is it, Filippo? 
 
 Filippo. 
 Spoons, your lordship. 
 
 Count. 
 
 Spoons ! 
 
 Filippo. 
 
 Yes, my lord, for wasn't my lady born with a golden 
 spoon in her ladyship's mouth, and we haven't never 
 so much as a silver one for the golden lips of her 
 ladyship. 
 
 Count. 
 Have we not half a score of silver spoons? 
 
 Filippo. 
 Half o' one, my lord ! 
 
 Count. 
 How half of one?
 
 THE FALCON. 239 
 
 FiLIPPO. 
 
 I trod upon him even now, my lord, in my hurry, 
 and broke him. 
 
 Count. 
 And the other nine ? 
 
 FiLIPPO. 
 
 Sold! but shall I not mount with your lordship's 
 leave to her ladyship's castle, in your lordship's and 
 her ladyship's name, and confer with her ladyship's 
 seneschal, and so descend again with some of her 
 ladyship's own appurtenances? 
 
 Count. 
 
 Why — no, man. Only see your cloth be clean. 
 
 \_Exit FiLIPPO. 
 
 Lady Giovanna. 
 
 Ay, ay, this faded ribbon was the mode 
 
 In Florence ten years back. What's here? a scroll 
 
 Pinn'd to the wreath. 
 
 My lord, you have said so much 
 Of this poor wreath that I was bold enough 
 To take it down, if but to guess what flowers 
 Had made it; and I find a written scroll 
 That seems to run in rhymings. Might I read?
 
 240 THE FALCON. 
 
 Count. 
 Ay, if you will. 
 
 Lady Giovanna. 
 
 It should be if you can. 
 {Reads.) 'Dead mountain.' Nay, for who could 
 
 trace a hand 
 So wild and staggering? 
 
 Count. 
 
 This was penn'd, Madonna, 
 Close to the grating on a winter morn 
 In the perpetual twilight of a prison, 
 When he that made it, having his right hand 
 Lamed in the battle, \\TOte it with his left. 
 
 Lady Giovanna. 
 
 O heavens ! the very letters seem to shake 
 
 With cold, with pain perhaps, poor prisoner ! Well, 
 
 Tell me the words— or better — for I see 
 
 There goes a musical score along with them, 
 
 Repeat them to their music. 
 
 Count. 
 
 You can touch 
 No chord in me that would not answer you 
 In music.
 
 THE FALCON. 241 
 
 Lady Giovanna. 
 
 That is musically said. 
 [Count takes guitar. Lady Giovanna sits listening 
 with wreath in her hand, and quietly removes 
 scroll and places it on table at the end of the song. 
 
 Count {sings, playing guitar). 
 
 'Dead mountain flowers, dead mountain-meadow 
 
 flowers, 
 Dearer than when you made your mountain gay, 
 Sweeter than any violet of to-day. 
 Richer than all the wide world-wealth of May, 
 To me, tho' all your bloom has died away, 
 You bloom again, dead mountain-meadow flowers. ' 
 
 Enter Elisabeita with cloth. 
 
 Elisabetta. 
 A word with you, my lord ! 
 
 Count (singing). 
 
 ' O mountain flowers ! ' 
 
 Elisabeita. 
 A word, my lord! (Louder). 
 
 Count (sings). 
 ' Dead flowers ! ' 
 
 VOL. VI. R
 
 242 THE FALCON. 
 
 Elisabeita. 
 
 A word, my lord! {Louder). 
 
 Count. 
 
 I pray you pardon me again ! 
 
 [Lady Giovanna, looking at wreath. 
 
 (Count to Elisabetta.) 
 
 What is it? 
 
 Elisabetta. 
 
 My lord, we have but one piece of earthenware to 
 serve the salad in to my lady, and that cracked ! 
 
 Count. 
 
 Why then, that flower 'd bowl my ancestor 
 Fetch 'd from the farthest east — we never use it 
 For fear of breakage — but this day has brought 
 A great occasion. You can take it, nurse ! 
 
 Elisabetta. 
 I did take it, my lord, but what with my lady's com- 
 ing that had so flurried me, and what with the fear of 
 breaking it, I did break it, my lord : it is broken ! 
 
 Count. 
 
 My one thing left of value in the world ! 
 No matter! see your cloth be white as snow!
 
 THE FALCON. 243 
 
 Elisabetta (^pointing thro^ window). 
 White ? I warrant thee, my son, as the snow yonder 
 on the very tip-top o' the mountain. 
 
 Count. 
 And yet to speak white truth, my good old mother, 
 I have seen it like the snow on the moraine. 
 
 Elisabetta. 
 How can your lordship say so? There, my lord ! 
 
 \_Lays cloth. 
 
 my dear son, be not unkind to me. 
 
 And one word more. [Goifig — returns. 
 
 Count {touching guitar). 
 
 Good ! let it be but one. 
 
 Elisabetta. 
 Hath she return'd thy love? 
 
 Count. 
 
 Not yet ! 
 
 Elisabeita. 
 
 And will she? 
 
 Count {looking at Lady Giovanna). 
 
 1 scarce believe it ! 
 
 Elisabetta. 
 
 Shame upon her then! \Exit
 
 244 THE FALCON. 
 
 Count {sings). 
 
 'Dead mountain flowers ' 
 
 Ah well, my nurse has broken 
 The thread of my dead flowers, as she has broken 
 My china bowl. My memory is as dead. 
 
 [ Goes and replaces guitar. 
 Strange that the words at home with me so long 
 Should fly like bosom friends when needed most. 
 So by your leave if you would hear the rest, 
 The writing. 
 
 Lady Giovanna (holding wreath toward hint). 
 
 There ! my lord, you are a poet, 
 And can you not imagine that the wreath, 
 Set, as you say, so lightly on her head. 
 Fell with her motion as she rose, and she, 
 A girl, a child, then but fifteen, however 
 Flutter' d or flatter' d by your notice of her, 
 Was yet too bashful to return for it? 
 
 Count. 
 
 Was it so indeed? was it so? was it so? 
 
 [Leans foi-ward to take wreath, and touches Lady 
 Giovanna's hand, which she withdraws hastily ; 
 he places wreath on corner of chair.
 
 THE FALCON. 245 
 
 Lady Giovanna {with dignity). 
 
 I did not say, my lord, that it was so; 
 I said you might imagine it was so. 
 
 Enter Filippo with bowl of salad, which he places 
 
 on table. 
 
 Filippo. 
 
 Here's a fine salad for my lady, for tho' we have 
 been a soldier, and ridden by his lordship's side, and 
 seen the red of the battle-field, yet are we now drill- 
 sergeant to his lordship's lettuces, and profess to be 
 great in green things and in garden-stuff. 
 
 Lady Giovanna. 
 I thank you, good Filippo. \_Exit Filippo. 
 
 Enter Elisabetta with bird on a dish which she 
 places on table. 
 
 Elisabetta {close to table). 
 
 Here's a fine fowl for my lady; I had scant time to 
 do him in. I hope he be not underdone, for we be 
 undone in the doing of him.
 
 246 THE FALCON. 
 
 Lady Giovanna. 
 I thank you, my good nurse, 
 
 FiLippo {re-entering with plate of prunes). 
 
 And here are fine fruits for my lady — prunes, my 
 lady, from the tree that my lord himself planted here in 
 the blossom of his boyhood — and so I, Filippo, being, 
 with your ladyship's pardon, and as your ladyship 
 knows, his lordship's own foster-brother, would com- 
 mend them to your ladyship's most peculiar apprecia- 
 tion. \_Puts plate on table. 
 
 Elisabetta. 
 Filippo ! 
 
 Lady Giovanna (Count leads her to table). 
 Will you not eat with me, my lord ? 
 
 Count. 
 
 I cannot. 
 
 Not a morsel, not one morsel. I have broken 
 
 My fast already. I will pledge you. Wine ! 
 
 Filippo, wine ! 
 
 [^Sits near table ; Filippo brings flask, fills the 
 
 Count's goblet, then Lady Giovanna' s; 
 
 Elisabetta stands at the back of Lady 
 
 Giovanna 's chair.
 
 THE FALCON. 247 
 
 Count. 
 
 It is but thin and cold, 
 Not like the vintage blowing round your castle. 
 We lie too deep down in the shadow here. 
 Your ladyship lives higher in the sun. 
 
 \They pledge each other and drink. 
 
 Lady Giovanna. 
 
 If I might send you down a flask or two 
 Of that same vintage? There is iron in it. 
 It has been much commended as a medicine. 
 I give it my sick son, and if you be 
 Not quite recover'd of your wound, the wine 
 Might help you. None has ever told me yet 
 The story of your battle and your wound. 
 
 FiLiPPO {coming forward^. 
 I can tell you, my lady, I can tell you. 
 
 Elisabetta. 
 
 Filippo ! will you take the word out of your master's 
 own mouth? 
 
 Filippo. 
 Was it there to take? Put it there, my lord.
 
 848 THE FALCON. 
 
 Count. 
 
 Giovanna, my dear lady, in this same battle 
 We had been beaten — they were ten to one. 
 The trumpets of the fight had echo'd down, 
 I and Filippo here had done our best. 
 And, having passed unwounded from the field, 
 Were seated sadly at a fountain side. 
 Our horses grazing by us, when a troop. 
 Laden with booty and with a flag of ours 
 Ta'en in the fight 
 
 Filippo. 
 
 Ay, but we fought for it back. 
 
 And kill'd- 
 
 
 Elisabetta. 
 Filippo! 
 
 Count. 
 
 A troop of horse 
 
 Fn.TPPO. 
 
 Five hundred ! 
 
 Count. 
 
 Say fifty! 
 
 
 Filippo. 
 
 
 And 
 
 we kill'd 'em by the score!
 
 THE FALCON. 249 
 
 Elisabetta. 
 Filippo! 
 
 FiLIPPO. 
 
 Well, well, well ! I bite my tongue. 
 
 Count. / 
 
 We may have left their fifty less by five. / 
 
 However, staying not to count how many. 
 
 But anger'd at their flaunting of our flag, 
 
 We mounted, and we dashed into the heart of 'em. 
 
 1 wore the lady's chaplet round my neck; 
 
 It served me for a blessed rosary. 
 
 I am sure that more than one brave fellow owed 
 
 His death to the charm in it. 
 
 Elisabetta. 
 
 Hear that, my lady ! 
 
 Count. 
 
 I cannot tell how long we strove before 
 
 Our horses fell beneath us; down we went 
 
 Crush' d, hack'd at, trampled underfoot. The night, 
 
 As some cold-manner'd friend may strangely do us 
 
 The truest service, had a touch of frost 
 
 That help'd to check the flowing of the blood. 
 
 My last sight ere I swoon 'd was one sweet face
 
 250 ' THE FALCON. 
 
 Crown' d with the wreath. That seem'd to come and 
 
 go. 
 
 They left us there for dead ! 
 
 Elisabetta. 
 
 Hear that, my lady ! 
 
 FiLIPPO. 
 
 Ay, and I left two fingers there for dead. See, my 
 lady! (Showing his hand.) 
 
 Lady Giovanna. 
 I see, Filippo! 
 
 FiLIPPO. 
 
 And I have small hope of the gentleman gout in 
 my great toe. 
 
 Lady Giovanna. 
 And why, Filippo? \Smiling absently. 
 
 Filippo. 
 I left him there for dead too ! 
 
 Elisabetta. 
 
 She smiles at him — how hard the woman is! 
 My lady, if your ladyship were not 
 Too proud to look upon the garland, you 
 Would find it stain'd
 
 THE FALCON. 251 
 
 Count {rising). 
 
 Silence, Elisabetta! 
 
 Elisabetta. 
 
 Stain' d with the blood of the best heart that ever 
 Beat for one woman. [Faints to wreath on chair. 
 
 Lady Giovanna {rising slowly). 
 I can eat no more ! 
 
 Count. 
 
 You have but trifled with our homely salad, 
 But dallied with a single lettuce-leaf; 
 Not eaten anything. 
 
 Lady Giovanna. 
 
 Nay, nay, I cannot. 
 You know, my lord, I told you I was troubled. 
 My one child Florio lying still so sick, 
 I bound myself, and by a solemn vow, 
 That I would touch no flesh till he were well 
 Here, or else well in Heaven, where all is well. 
 [Elisabetta clears table of bird and salad : Filippo 
 snatches up the plate of prunes and holds them 
 to Lady Giovanna.
 
 252 THE FALCON. 
 
 FlLIPPO. 
 
 But the prunes, my lady, from the tree that his 
 lordship 
 
 Lady Giovanna. 
 
 Not now, Filippo. My lord Federigo, 
 Can I not speak with you once more alone ? 
 
 Count. 
 You hear, Filippo? My good fellow, go! 
 
 Filippo. 
 But the prunes that your lordship 
 
 Elisabetta. 
 Filippo ! 
 
 Count. 
 Ay, prune our company of thine own and go ! 
 
 Eusabetta. 
 Filippo! 
 
 Filippo {turning). 
 
 Well, well ! the women ! \_Exit. 
 
 Count. 
 
 And thou too leave us, my dear nurse, alone.
 
 THE FALCON. 253 
 
 Elisabetta {fohfing tip cloth and going). 
 
 And me too ! Ay, the dear nurse will leave you 
 alone; but, for all that, she that has eaten the yolk is 
 scarce like to swallow the shell. 
 
 [ Turns and curtseys stiffly to Lady Giovanna, then 
 exit. Lady Giovanna takes out diamond neck- 
 lace from casket. 
 
 Lady Giovanna. 
 
 I have anger' d your good nurse; these old-world ser- 
 vants 
 Are all but flesh and blood with those they serve. 
 My lord, I have a present to return you, 
 And afterwards a boon to crave of you. 
 
 Count. 
 
 No, my most honour' d and long-worshipt lady, 
 
 Poor Federigo degli Alberighi 
 
 Takes nothing in return from you except 
 
 Return f his affection — can deny 
 
 Nothing to you that you require of him. 
 
 Lady Giovanna. 
 
 Then I require you to take back your diamonds — 
 
 [ Offering necklace. 
 I doubt not they are yours. No other heart
 
 254 THE FALCON. 
 
 Of such magnificence in courtesy 
 
 Beats — out of heaven. They seem'd too rich a prize 
 
 To trust with any messenger. I came 
 
 In person to return them. [ Count drmvs back. 
 
 If the phrase 
 'Return' displease you, we will say — exchange them 
 For your — for your 
 
 Count {takes a step toward her and then back). 
 
 For mine — and what of mine? 
 
 Lady Giovanna. 
 Well, shall we say this wreath and your sweet rhymes? 
 
 Count. 
 But have you ever worn my diamonds? 
 
 Lady Giovanna. 
 
 No! 
 
 For that would seem accepting of your love. 
 
 I cannot brave my brother — but be sure 
 
 That I shall never marry again, my lord ! 
 
 Count. 
 Sure ? 
 
 Lady Giovanna. 
 
 Yes! 
 
 Count. 
 
 Is this your brother's order?
 
 THE FALCON. 255 
 
 Lady Giovanna. 
 
 No! 
 
 For he would marrv me to the richest man 
 In Florence; but I think you know the saying — 
 'Better a man without riches, than riches without a 
 man.' 
 
 Count. 
 
 A noble saying — and acted on would yield 
 A nobler breed of men and women. Lady, 
 I find you a shrewd bargainer. The wreath 
 That once you wore outvalues twentyfold 
 The diamonds that you never deign'd to wear. 
 But lay them there for a moment ! 
 
 [Foints to table. Lady Giovanna places necklace 
 071 table. 
 
 And be you 
 Gracious enough to let me know the boon 
 By granting which, if aught be mine to grant, 
 I should be made more happy than I hoped 
 Ever to be again. 
 
 Lady Giovanna. 
 Then keep your wreath, 
 But you will find me a shrewd bargainer still. 
 I cannot keep your diamonds, for the gift 
 I ask for, to my mind and at this present 
 Outvalues all the jewels upon earth.
 
 256 THE FALCON. 
 
 Count. 
 It should be love that thus outvalues all. 
 You speak like love, and yet you love me not. 
 I have nothing in this world but love for you. 
 
 Lady Giovanna. 
 Love? it is love, love for my dying boy, 
 Moves me to ask it of you. 
 
 Count. 
 
 What? my time? 
 Is it my time? Well, I can give my time 
 To him that is a part of you, your son. 
 Shall I return to the castle with you? Shall I 
 Sit by him, read to him, tell him my tales, 
 Sing him my songs? You know that I can touch 
 The ghittern to some purpose. 
 
 Lady Giovanna. 
 
 No, not that ! 
 I thank you heartily for that — and you, 
 I doubt not from your nobleness of nature. 
 Will pardon me for asking what I ask. 
 
 Count. 
 Giovanna, dear Giovanna, I that once 
 The wildest of the random youth of Florence 
 Before I saw you — all my nobleness
 
 THE FALCON. 257 
 
 Of nature, as you deign to call it, draws 
 From you, and from my constancy to you. 
 No more, but speak. 
 
 Lady Giovanna. 
 
 I will. You know sick people, 
 More specially sick children, have strange fancies, 
 Strange longings; and to thwart them in their mood 
 May work them grievous harm at times, may even 
 Hasten their end. I would you had a son! 
 It might be easier then for you to make 
 Allowance for a mother — her — who comes 
 To rob you of your one delight on earth. 
 How often has my sick boy yearn'd for this! 
 I have put him off as often; but to-day 
 I dared not — so much weaker, so much worse 
 For last day's journey. I was weeping for him; 
 He gave me his hand: 'I should be well again 
 If the good Count would give me ' 
 
 Count. 
 
 Lady Giovanna. 
 
 Count (starts back). 
 
 Give me. 
 
 His falcon, 
 
 My falcon 
 
 VOL. VI. 
 
 Lady Giovanna. 
 Yes, your falcon, Federigo !
 
 I 
 
 258 TJI£: FALCON. 
 
 Count. 
 Alas, I cannot! 
 
 Lady Giovanna. 
 
 Cannot ? Even so ! 
 I fear'd as much. O this unhappy world ! 
 How shall I break it to him? how shall I tell him? 
 The boy may die : more blessed were the rags 
 Of some pale beggar-woman seeking alms 
 For her sick son, if he were like to live. 
 Than all my childless wealth, if mine must die. 
 I was to blame — the love you said you bore me — 
 My lord, we thank you for your entertainment, 
 
 [ With a stately curtsey. 
 And so return — Heaven help him ! — to our son. 
 
 \_Tiirns. 
 Count {rushes forward^. 
 
 Stay, stay, I am most unlucky, most unhappy. 
 You never had look'd in on me before. 
 And when you came and dipt your sovereign head 
 Thro' these low doors, you ask'd to eat with me. 
 I had but emptiness to set before you. 
 No not a draught of milk, no not an egg, 
 Nothing but my brave bird, my noble falcon, 
 My comrade of the house, and of the field. 
 She had to die for it — she died for you. 
 Perhaps I thought with those of old, the nobler
 
 THE FALCON. 259 
 
 The victim was, the more acceptable 
 Might be the sacrifice. I fear you scarce 
 Will thank me for your entertainment now. 
 
 Lady Giovanna {?'e turning). 
 I bear with him no longer. 
 
 Count. 
 
 No, Madonna! 
 And he will have to bear with it as he may. 
 
 Lady Giovanna. 
 I break with him for ever ! 
 
 Count. 
 
 Yes, Giovanna, 
 But he will keep his love to you for ever ! 
 
 Lady Giovanna. 
 
 You? you? not you! My brother! my hard brother ! 
 O Federigo, Federigo, I love you ! 
 Spite of ten thousand brothers, Federigo. 
 
 \_Falls at his feet. 
 
 Count {impetiiotisly). 
 
 Why then the dying of my noble bird 
 Hath served me better than her living — then 
 
 {Takes diamonds from table.
 
 26o THE FALCON. 
 
 These diamonds are both yours and mine — have won 
 Their value again — beyond all markets — there 
 I lay them for the first time round your neck. 
 
 \^Lays necklace round her neck. 
 And then this chaplet — No more feuds, but peace, 
 Peace and conciliation ! I will make 
 Your brother love me. See, I tear away 
 The leaves were darken' d by the battle — 
 
 \Pulls leaves off and throws them down. 
 
 — crown you 
 Again with the same crown my Queen of Beauty. 
 
 {Places wreath on her head. 
 Rise — I could almost think that the dead garland 
 Will break once more into the living blossom. 
 Nay, nay, I pray you rise. 
 
 {Raises her with both hands. 
 We two together 
 Will help to heal your son — your son and mine — 
 We shall do it — we shall do it. {Embraces her. 
 
 The purpose of my being is accomplish'd. 
 And I am happy ! 
 
 Lady Giovanna. 
 And I too, Federigo.
 
 THE FORESTERS
 
 THE FORESTERS 
 
 ROBIN HOOD AND MAID MARIAN 
 
 BY 
 
 ALFRED 
 LORD TENNYSON
 
 Copyright, 1892, 
 By MACMILLAN AND CO„
 
 ACT I 
 
 SCENE I 
 
 THE BOND 
 
 SCENES II, III 
 
 THE OUTLAWRY
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 Robin Hood, Earl of Huntingdon. 
 King Richard, Cosur de Lion. 
 Prince John. 
 Little John, 
 
 Follo'vers of Robin Hood. 
 
 Will Scarlet, 
 
 Friar Tuck, 
 
 Much, 
 
 A Justiciary. 
 
 Sheriff of Nottingham. 
 
 Abbot of St. Mary's. 
 
 Sir Richard Lea. 
 
 Walter Lea, son of Sir Richard Lea. 
 
 Maid Marian, daughter of Sir Richard Lea. 
 
 Kate, attendant on Marian. 
 
 Old Woman. 
 
 Retaitiers, Messengers, Merry Men, Mercenaries, Friars, 
 Beggars, Sailors, Peasants {tnen and womefi), &'c.
 
 THE FORESTERS 
 
 ACT I 
 
 Scene I. — The garden before Sir Richard 
 Lea's castle. 
 
 Kate ( gathering flowers) . 
 
 These roses for my Lady Marian ; these lilies to 
 lighten Sir Richard's black room, where he sits and 
 eats his heart for want of money to pay the Abbot. 
 
 \_Sings. 
 The warrior Earl of Allendale, 
 
 He loved the Lady Anne; 
 The lady loved the master well, 
 The maid she loved the man. 
 
 All in the castle garden. 
 
 Or ever the day began. 
 
 The lady gave a rose to the Earl, 
 
 The maid a rose to the man. 
 
 269
 
 270 THE FORESTERS ACT i 
 
 *Igo to fight in Scotland 
 
 With many a savage clan ; ' 
 The lady gave her hand to the Earl, 
 The maid her hand to the man. 
 
 * Farewell, farewell, my warrior Earl !'' 
 And ever a tear down ran. 
 She gave a weeping kiss to the Earl, 
 And the maid a kiss to the man. 
 
 Enter four ragged Retainers. 
 
 First Retainer. 
 You do well, Mistress Kate, to sing and to gather 
 roses. You be fed with tit-bits, you, and we be dogs 
 that have only the bones, till we be only bones our 
 own selves. 
 
 Second Retainer. 
 
 I am fed with tit-bits no more than you are, but 
 I keep a good heart and make the most of it, and, 
 truth to say, Sir Richard and my Lady Marian fare 
 wellnigh as sparely as their people. 
 
 Third Retainer. 
 And look at our suits, out at knee, out at elbow. 
 We be more like scarecrows in a field than decent 
 serving men; and then, I pray you., look at Robin 
 Earl of Huntingdon's men.
 
 scene i the foresters 271 
 
 First Retainer. 
 She hath looked well at one of 'em, Little John. 
 
 Third Retainer. 
 Ay, how fine they be in their liveries, and each of 
 'em as full of meat as an egg, and as sleek and as 
 round-about as a mellow codlin. 
 
 Fourth Retainer. 
 
 But I be worse off than any of you, for I be lean 
 by nature, and if you cram me crop-full I be little 
 better than Famine in the picture, but if you starve 
 me I be Gaffer Death himself. I would like to show 
 you, Mistress Kate, how bare and spare I be on the 
 rib : I be lanker than an old horse turned out to die 
 on the common. 
 
 Kate. 
 
 Spare me thy spare ribs, I pray thee ; but now I 
 ask you all, did none of you love young Walter Lea ? 
 
 First Retainer. 
 
 Ay, if he had not gone to fight the king's battles, 
 we should have better battels at home. 
 
 Kate. 
 Right as an Oxford scholar, but the boy was taken 
 prisoner by the Moors.
 
 272 THE FORESTERS act I 
 
 First Retainer. 
 
 Ay. 
 
 Kate. 
 
 And Sir Richard was told he might be ransomed 
 for two thousand marks in gold. 
 
 First Retainer. 
 Ay. 
 
 Kate. 
 
 Then he borrowed the monies from the Abbot of 
 York, the Sheriffs brother. And if they be not paid 
 back at the end of the year, the land goes to the 
 Abbot. 
 
 First Retainer. 
 
 No news of young Walter? 
 
 Kate. 
 
 None, nor of the gold, nor the man who took out 
 the gold : but now ye know why we live so stintedly, 
 and why ye have so few grains to peck at. Sir 
 Richard must scrape and scrape till he get to the land 
 again. Come, come, why do ye loiter here? Carry 
 fresh rushes into the dining-hall, for those that are there 
 they be so greasy and smell so vilely that my Lady 
 Marian holds her nose when she steps across it.
 
 SCENE I THE FORESTERS 273 
 
 Fourth Retainer. 
 
 Why there, now ! that very word ' greasy ' hath a 
 kind of unction in it, a smack of reUsh about it. The 
 rats have gnawed 'em already. I pray Heaven we 
 may not have to take to the rushes. [^Exeunt. 
 
 Kate. 
 Poor fellows ! 
 
 The lady gave her hand to the Earl, 
 The maid her hand to the man. 
 
 Enter Little John. 
 
 Little John. 
 
 My master, Robin the Earl, is always a-telling us 
 that every man, for the sake of the great blessed 
 Mother in heaven, and for the love of his own little 
 mother on earth, should handle all womankind gently, 
 and hold them in all honour, and speak small to 'em, 
 and not scare 'em, but go about to come at their 
 love with all manner of homages, and observances, 
 and circumbendibuses. 
 
 Kate. 
 The lady gave a rose to the Earl, 
 The maid a rose to the tfian. 
 
 VOL. VI. T
 
 274 THE FORESTERS act i 
 
 Little John {seeing her) . 
 O the sacred little thing ! What a shape ! what 
 lovely arms ! A rose to the man ! Ay, the man had 
 given her a rose and she gave him another. 
 
 Kate. 
 Shall I keep one little rose for Little John ? No. 
 
 Little John. 
 There, there ! You see I was right. She hath a 
 tenderness toward me, but is too shy to show it. It 
 is in her, in the woman, and the man must bring it 
 out of her. 
 
 ELate. 
 She gave a weeping kiss to the Earl, 
 The maid a kiss to the man. 
 
 Little John. 
 Did she ? But there I am sure the ballad is at fault. 
 It should have told us how the man first kissed the 
 maid. She doesn't see me. Shall I be bold ? shall I 
 touch her? shall I give her the first kiss? O sweet 
 Kate, my first love, the first kiss, the first kiss ! 
 
 Kate {turns and kisses him). 
 Why lookest thou so amazed ?
 
 SCENKI THE FORESTERS 275 
 
 Little John. 
 
 I cannot tell ; but I came to give thee the first 
 kiss, and thou hast given it me. 
 
 Kate. 
 
 But if a man and a maid care for one another, 
 does it matter so much if the maid give the first 
 kiss? 
 
 Little John. 
 
 I cannot tell, but I had sooner have given thee 
 the first kiss. I was dreaming of it all the way 
 hither. 
 
 Kate. 
 
 Dream of it, then, all the way back, for now I will 
 have none of it. 
 
 Little John. 
 
 Nay, now thou hast given me the man's kiss, let 
 me give thee the maid's, 
 
 Kate. 
 
 If thou draw one inch nearer, I will give thee a 
 buffet on the face. 
 
 Little John. 
 
 Wilt thou not give me rather the little rose for 
 Little John ?
 
 276 THE FORESTERS ACT i 
 
 Kate {throws it down and tramples on it^ . 
 There ! [Kate seeing Marian exit hurriedly. 
 
 Enter Marian {singing) . 
 
 Love flew in at the window, 
 
 As Wealth walk'd in at the door. 
 *You have come for you saw Wealth coming,' said I. 
 But he fluttered his wings with a sweet little cry, 
 
 ril cleave to you rich or poor. 
 
 Wealth dropt out of the window. 
 
 Poverty crept thro' the door. 
 ' Well now you would fain follow Wealth,' said I, 
 But he flutter' d his wings as he gave 7ne the lie, 
 I cling to you all the more. 
 
 Little John. 
 
 Thanks, my lady— inasmuch as I am a true believer 
 in true love myself, and your Ladyship hath sung the 
 old proverb out of fashion. 
 
 Marian. 
 
 Ay but thou hast ruffled my woman, Little John. 
 She hath the fire in her face and the dew in her eyes. 
 I believed thee to be too solemn and formal to be a 
 ruffler. Out upon thee !
 
 SCENE I THE FORESTERS 2-j'j 
 
 Little John. 
 
 I am no ruffler, my lady ; but I pray yon, my lady, 
 if a man and a maid love one another, may the maid 
 give the first kiss ? 
 
 Marian. 
 It will be all the more gracious of her if she do. 
 
 Little John. 
 
 I cannot tell. Manners be so corrupt, and these 
 are the days of Prince John. \_Exit. 
 
 Enter Sir Richard Lea {reading a bond). 
 
 Sir Richard. 
 Marian ! 
 
 Marlan. 
 Father ! 
 
 Sir Richard. 
 Who parted from thee even now? 
 
 Marian. 
 
 That strange starched stiff creature, Little John, the 
 Earl's man. He would grapple with a hon like the 
 King, and is flustered by a girl's kiss.
 
 278 THE FORESTERS acti 
 
 Sir Richard. 
 
 There never was an Earl so true a friend of the 
 people -as Lord Robin of Huntingdon. 
 
 Marian. 
 A gallant Earl. I love him as I hate John. 
 
 Sir Richard. 
 
 I fear me he hath wasted his revenues in the service 
 of our good king Richard against the party of John, 
 as I have done, as I have done : and where is Richard ? 
 
 Marian. 
 Cleave to him, father ! he will come home at last. 
 
 Sir Richard. 
 
 I trust he will, but if he do not I and thou are but 
 beggars. 
 
 Marian. 
 
 We \vill be beggar'd then and be true to the King. 
 
 Sir Richard. 
 
 Thou speakest like a fool or a woman. Canst thou 
 endure to be a beggar whose whole life hath been
 
 SCENE I . THE FORESTERS 279 
 
 folded like a blossom in the sheath, like a careless 
 sleeper in the down ; who never hast felt a want, to 
 whom all things, up to this present, have come as freely 
 as heaven's air and mother's milk? 
 
 Marian. 
 
 Tut, father ! I am none of your delicate Norman 
 maidens who can only broider and mayhap ride 
 a-hawking with the help of the men. I can bake and 
 I can brew, and by all the saints I can shoot almost 
 as closely with the bow as the great Earl himself. I 
 have played at the foils too with Kate : but is not 
 to-day his birthday? 
 
 Sir Richard. 
 
 Dost thou love him indeed, that thou keepest a 
 record of his birthdays? Thou knowest that the 
 Sheriff of Nottingham loves thee. 
 
 Marian. 
 
 The Sheriff dare to love me? me who worship 
 Robin the great Earl of Huntingdon? I love him 
 as a damsel of his day might have loved Harold the 
 Saxon, or Hereward the Wake. They both fought 
 against the tyranny of the kings, the Normans. But 
 then your Sheriff, your little man, if he dare to fight
 
 28o THE FORESTERS ■ act i 
 
 at all, would fight for his rents, his leases, his houses, 
 his monies, his oxen, his dinners, himself. Now your 
 great man, your Robin, all England's Robin, fights 
 not for himself but for the people of England. This 
 John — this Norman tyranny — the stream is bearing 
 us all down, and our little Sheriff will ever swim with 
 the stream ! but our great man, our Robin, against 
 it. And how often in old histories have the great 
 men striven against the stream, and how often in the 
 long sweep of years to come must the great man strive 
 against it again to save his country, and the liberties 
 of his people ! God bless our well-beloved Robin, 
 Earl of Huntingdon. 
 
 Sir Richard. 
 Ay, ay. He wore thy colours once at a tourney. 
 I am old and forget Was Prince John there ? 
 
 Marian. 
 The Sheriff of Nottingham was there — not John. 
 
 Sir Richard. 
 Beware of John and the Sheriff of Nottingham. 
 They hunt in couples, and when they look at a maid 
 they blast her. 
 
 Marian. 
 
 Then the maid is not high-hearted enough.
 
 SCENE I THE FORESTERS 281 
 
 Sir Richard. 
 
 There — there — be not a fool again. Their aim is 
 ever at that which flies highest — but O girl, girl, I am 
 almost in despair. Those two thousand marks lent 
 me by the Abbot for the ransom of my son Walter — 
 I beheved this Abbot of the party of King Richard, 
 and he hath sold himself to that beast John — they 
 must be paid in a year and a month, or I lose the 
 land. There is one that should be grateful to me 
 overseas, a Count in Brittany — he lives near Quimper. 
 I saved his life once in battle. He has monies. I 
 will go to him. I saved him. I will try him. I am 
 all but sure of him. I will go to him. 
 
 Marian. 
 And I will follow thee, and God help us both. 
 
 Sir Richard. 
 
 Child, thou shouldst marry one who will pay the 
 mortgage. This Robin, this Earl of Huntingdon — he 
 is a friend of Richard — I know not, but he may save 
 the land, he may save the land. 
 
 Marian {showing a cross hung round her neck). 
 Father, you see this cross ?
 
 282 THE FORESTERS act i 
 
 Sir Richard. 
 
 Ay the King, thy godfather, gave it thee when a 
 baby. 
 
 Marian. 
 
 And he said that whenever I married he would give 
 me away, and on this cross I have sworn {kisses it\ 
 that till I myself pass away, there is no other man that 
 shall give me away. 
 
 Sir Richard. 
 
 Lo there — thou art fool again — I am all as loyal as 
 thyself, but what a vow ! what a vow ! 
 
 Re-enter Little John. 
 
 Little John. 
 My Lady Marian, your woman so flustered me that 
 I forgot my message from the Earl. To-day he hath 
 accomplished his thirtieth birthday, and he prays your 
 ladyship and your ladyship's father to be present at 
 his banquet to-night. 
 
 Marian. 
 Say, we will come. 
 
 Little John. 
 
 And I pray you, my lady, to stand between me and 
 your woman, Kate.
 
 SCENE I THE FORESTERS 283 
 
 Marian. 
 I will speak with her. 
 
 Little John. 
 
 I thank you, my lady, and I wish you and your 
 ladyship's father a most exceedingly good morning. 
 
 {^Exit. 
 
 Sir Richard. 
 
 Thou hast answered for me, but I know not if I 
 will let thee go. 
 
 Marian. 
 I mean to go. 
 
 Sir Richard. 
 
 Not if I barred thee up in thy chamber, like a bird 
 in a cage. 
 
 Marian. 
 
 Then I would drop from the casement, like a 
 spider. 
 
 Sir Richard. 
 
 But I would hoist the drawbridge, like thy master. 
 
 Marian. 
 And I would swim the moat, Hke an otter.
 
 284 THE FORESTERS act i 
 
 Sir Richard. 
 
 But I would set my men-at-arms to oppose thee, 
 like the Lord of the Castle. 
 
 Marian. 
 
 And I would break through them all, like the King 
 of England. 
 
 Sir Richard. 
 
 Well, thou shalt go, but O the land ! the land ! 
 my great great great grandfather, my great great 
 grandfather, my great grandfather, my grandfather 
 and my own father — they were born and bred on it 
 — it was their mother — they have trodden it for half 
 a thousand years, and whenever I set my own foot on 
 it I say to it, Thou art mine, and it answers, I am 
 thine to the very heart of the earth — but now I have 
 lost my gold, I have lost my son, and I shall lose my 
 land also. Down to the devil with this bond that 
 beggars me ! [Flings down the bond. 
 
 Marian. 
 
 Take it again, dear father, be not wroth at the 
 dumb parchment. Sufficient for the day, dear father ! 
 let us be merry to-night at the banquet.
 
 SCENE II THE FORESTERS 
 
 285 
 
 Scene II. — A banqueting-hall in the house of Robin 
 Hood the Earl of Huntingdon. Doors open into a 
 banqueti7ig-hall where he is at feast with his friends. 
 
 DRINKING SONG. 
 
 Long live Richard, 
 
 Robin and Richard ! 
 Long live Richard ! 
 
 Down with Johti ! 
 Drink to the Lion-heart 
 
 Every one ! 
 Pledge the Flantagenet, 
 
 Him that is gone. 
 Who knoivs whither? 
 
 God^s good Angel 
 Help him back hither, 
 
 And down with John ! 
 Long live Robin, 
 
 Robin and Richard / 
 Long live Robin, 
 
 And down with John ! 
 
 Enter Prince John disguised as a monk and the 
 Sheriff of Nottingham, Cries of 'Dotvn with 
 John,' 'Lotig live King Richard,' '■Doivn with 
 John.'
 
 286 THE FORESTERS acti 
 
 Prinxe John. 
 
 Down with John ! ha. Shall I be known ? is my 
 disguise perfect? 
 
 Sheriff. 
 Perfect — who should know you for Prince John, 
 so that you keep the cowl down and speak not? 
 
 \Shouts from the banquet-room. 
 
 Prince John. 
 
 Thou and I will still these revelries presently. 
 
 \_Shouts, ' Long live King Richard ! ' 
 
 I come here to see this daughter of Sir Richard of 
 the Lea and if her beauties answer their report. If 
 so — 
 
 Sheriff. 
 
 If so — \_Shouts, ' Down with John ! ' 
 
 Prince John. 
 
 You hear 
 
 Sheriff. 
 Yes, my lord, fear not. I will answer for you. 
 
 Enter Little John, Scarlet, Much, &'c., from the 
 banquet singi?2g a snatch of the Drinking Song.
 
 SCENE II THE FORESTERS 287 
 
 Little John. 
 
 I am a silent man myself, and all the more wonder 
 at our Earl. What a wealth of words — O Lord, I 
 will live and die for King Richard — not so much for 
 the cause as for the Earl. O Lord, I am easily led 
 by words, but I think the Earl hath right. Scarlet, 
 hath not the Earl right? What makes thee so down 
 in the mouth? 
 
 Scarlet. 
 
 I doubt not, I doubt not, and though I be down 
 in the mouth, I will swear by the head of the Earl. 
 
 Little John. 
 Thou Much, miller's son, hath not the Earl right ? 
 
 Much. 
 
 More water goes by the mill than the miller wots of, 
 and more goes to make right than I know of, but for 
 all that I will swear the Earl hath right. But they are 
 coming hither for the dance — 
 
 Enter Friar Tuck. 
 
 be they not, Friar Tuck? Thou art the Earl's con- 
 fessor and shouldst know.
 
 288 THE FORESTERS ACT 1 
 
 Tuck. 
 
 Ay, ay, and but that I am a man of weight, and the 
 weight of the church to boot on my shoulders, I would 
 dance too. Fa, la, la, fa, la, la. \_Capering. 
 
 Much. 
 
 But doth not the weight of the flesh at odd times 
 overbalance the weight of the church, ha friar ? 
 
 Tuck. 
 
 Homo sum. I love my dinner — but I can fast, I 
 can fast ; and as to other frailties of the flesh — out 
 upon thee ! Homo sum, sed virgo sum, I am a virgin, 
 my masters, I am a virgin. 
 
 Much. 
 
 And a virgin, my masters, three yards about the 
 waist is like to remain a virgin, for who could embrace 
 such an armful of joy? 
 
 Tuck. 
 
 Knave, there is a lot of wild fellows in Sherwood 
 Forest who hold by King Richard. If ever I meet 
 thee there, I will break thy sconce with my quarter- 
 staff".
 
 SCENE II THE FORESTERS 289 
 
 Enter from the banqueting- hall Sir Richard Lea, 
 Robin Hood, ^c. 
 
 RoBEsr. 
 My guests and friends, Sir Richard, all of you 
 Who deign to honour this my thirtieth year, 
 And some of you were prophets that I might be. 
 Now that the sun our King is gone, the light 
 Of these dark hours ; but this new moon, I fear, 
 Is darkness. Nay, this may be the last time 
 When I shall hold my birthday in this hall : 
 I may be outlaw'd, I have heard a rumour. 
 
 All. 
 
 God forbid ! 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Nay, but we have no news of Richard yet. 
 And ye did wrong in crying ' Down with John ; * 
 For be he dead, then John may be our King. 
 
 All. 
 God forbid ! 
 
 Robin. 
 Ay God forbid, 
 But if it be so we must bear with John. 
 
 VOL. VI. U
 
 290 THE FORESTERS act i 
 
 The man is able enough — no lack of wit, 
 
 And apt at arms and shrewd in policy. 
 
 Courteous enough too when he wills j and yet 
 
 I hate him for his want of chivalry. 
 
 He that can pluck the flower of maidenhood 
 
 From off the stalk and trample it in the mire, 
 
 And boast that he hath trampled it. I hate him, 
 
 I hate the man. I may not hate the King 
 
 For aught I know, 
 
 So that our Barons bring his baseness under. 
 
 I think they will be mightier than the king. 
 
 \_Dance fnusic. 
 
 (Marian eiiters with other damsels.^ 
 
 Robin. 
 
 The high Heaven guard thee from his wantonness 
 Who art the fairest flower of maidenhood 
 That ever blossom'd on this English isle. 
 
 Maria>\ 
 
 Cloud not thy birthday with one fear for me. 
 My lord, myself and my good father pray 
 Thy thirtieth summer may be thirty-fold 
 As happy as any of those that went before.
 
 SCENE II THE FORESTERS 291 
 
 Robin. 
 
 My Lady Marian you can make it so 
 
 If you will deign to tread a measure with me. 
 
 Marian. 
 
 Full willingly, my lord. 
 
 \_They dance, 
 
 Robin {after dance). 
 My Lady, will you answer me a question? 
 
 Marian. 
 Any that you may ask. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 A question that every true man asks of a woman 
 once in his life. 
 
 Marian. 
 
 I will not answer it, my lord, till King Richard 
 come home again. 
 
 Prince John {to Sheriff). 
 
 How she looks up at him, how she holds her face ! 
 Now if she kiss him, I will have his head.
 
 292 
 
 THE FORESTERS act i 
 
 Sheriff. 
 
 Peace, my lord; the Earl and Sir Richard come 
 this way. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Must you have these monies before the year and 
 the month end? 
 
 Sir Richard. 
 
 Or I forfeit my land to the Abbot. I must pass 
 overseas to one that I trust will help me. 
 
 Robin. 
 Leaving your fair Marian alone here. 
 
 Sir Richard. 
 
 Ay, for she hath somewhat of the lioness in her, 
 and there be men-at-arms to guard her. 
 
 [Robin, Sir Richard, and Marian pass on. 
 
 Prince John {to Sheriff). 
 
 Why that will be our opportunity 
 
 When I and thou will rob the nest of her. 
 
 Sheriff. 
 Good Prince, art thou in need of any gold ?
 
 scene ii the foresters 293 
 
 Prince John. 
 Gold? why? not now. 
 
 Sheriff. 
 
 I would give thee any gold 
 So that myself alone might rob the nest. 
 
 Prince John. 
 Well, well then, thou shalt rob the nest alone. 
 
 Sheriff. 
 Swear to me by that relic on thy neck. 
 
 Prince John. 
 
 I swear then by this relic on my neck — 
 No, no, I will not swear by this ; I keep it 
 For holy vows made to the blessed Saints 
 Not pleasures, women's matters. 
 Dost thou mistrust me? Am I not thy friend? 
 Beware, man, lest thou lose thy faith in me. 
 I love thee much ; and as I am thy friend, 
 I promise thee to make this Marian thine. 
 Go now and ask the maid to dance with thee, 
 And learn from her if she do love this Earl. 
 
 Sheriff {advancing toward Marun and Robin) . 
 Pretty mistress !
 
 294 THE FORESTERS act i 
 
 Robin. 
 What art thou, man ? Sheriff of Nottingham ? 
 
 Sheriff. 
 
 Ay, my lord. I and my friend, this monk, were 
 here belated, and seeing the hospitable lights in your 
 castle, and knowing the fame of your hospitality, we 
 ventured in uninvited. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 You are welcome, though I fear you be of those 
 who hold more by John than Richard. 
 
 Sheriff. 
 
 True, for through John I had my sheriffship. I am 
 John's till Richard come back again, and then I am 
 Richard's. Pretty mistress, will you dance ? 
 
 \jrhey dance. 
 
 Robin {talking to Prince John). 
 
 What monk of what convent art thou ? Why wearest 
 thou thy cowl to hide thy face ? 
 
 [Prince John shakes his head. 
 Is he deaf, or dumb, or daft, or drunk belike ? 
 
 [Prince John shakes his head.
 
 SCENE II THE FORESTERS 295 
 
 Why comest thou like a death's head at my feast? 
 
 [Prince John points to the Sheriff, 
 wJio is dancing with Marian. 
 Is he thy mouthpiece, thine interpreter? 
 
 [Prince John nods. 
 
 Sheriff {to Marian as they pass). 
 Beware of John ! 
 
 Marian. 
 I hate him. 
 
 Sheriff. 
 
 Would you cast 
 
 An eye of favour on me, I would pay 
 
 My brother all his debt and save the land. 
 
 Marian. 
 I cannot answer thee till Richard come. 
 
 Sheriff. 
 And when he comes ? 
 
 Marian. 
 Well, you must wait till then. 
 
 Little John {dancing with Kate). 
 Is it made up ? Will you kiss me ?
 
 296 THE FORESTERS act i 
 
 Kate. 
 You shall give me the first kiss. 
 
 Little John. 
 There {kisses he?-). Now thine. 
 
 Kate. 
 
 You shall wait for mine till Sir Richard has paid the 
 Abbot. \_They pass on. 
 
 {The Sheriff leaves Marian with her father 
 and comes toward Robin. 
 
 Robin {to Sheriff, Prince John standing by). 
 Sheriff, thy friend, this monk, is but a statue. 
 
 Sheriff. 
 Pardon him, my lord : he is a holy Palmer, bounden 
 by a vow not to show his face, nor to speak word to 
 anyone, till he join King Richard in the Holy Land. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Going to the Holy Land to Richard ! Give me 
 
 thy hand and tell him Why, what a cold grasp 
 
 is thine — as if thou didst repent thy courtesy even in 
 the doing it. That is no true man's hand. I hate 
 hidden faces.
 
 SCENE II THE FORESTERS 297 
 
 Sheriff. 
 
 Pardon him again, I pray you ; but the twihght of 
 the coming day already ghmmers in the east. We 
 thank you, and farewell. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Farewell, farewell. I hate hidden faces. 
 
 \_Exeunt Prince John and Sheriff. 
 
 Sir Richard {coming forward with Maid Marian), 
 
 How close the Sheriff peer'd into thine eyes ! 
 What did he say to thee ? 
 
 Marian. 
 
 Bade me beware 
 
 Of John : what maid but would beware of John? 
 
 What else ? 
 
 Sir Richard. 
 
 Marian. 
 I care not what he said. 
 
 Sir Richard. 
 
 What else ? 
 Marian. 
 
 That if I cast an eye of favour on him, 
 Himself would pay this mortgage to his brother, 
 And save the land.
 
 298 THE FORESTERS act i 
 
 Sir Richard. 
 Did he say so, the Sheriff ? 
 
 Robin. 
 I fear this Abbot is a heart of flint, 
 Hard as the stones of his abbey. 
 
 good Sir Richard, 
 
 1 am sorry my exchequer runs so low 
 I cannot help you in this exigency ; 
 
 For though my men an-l I flash out at times 
 Of festival like burnish'd summer-flies, 
 We make but one hour's buzz, are only like 
 The rainbow of a momentary sun. 
 I am mortgaged as thyself. 
 
 Sir Ricr'Vrd. 
 
 Ay ! I warrant thee— thou canst not be sorrier 
 than I am. Come away, daughter. 
 
 Robin. 
 Farewell, Sir Richard ; farewell, sweet Marian. 
 
 Marian. 
 Till better times. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 But if the better times should never come ?
 
 SCENE 11 
 
 THE FORESTERS 299 
 
 Marian. 
 Then I shall be no worse. 
 
 Robin. 
 And if the worst time come ? 
 
 Marian. 
 Why then I will be better than the time. 
 
 Robin. 
 This ring my mother gave me : it was her own 
 Betrothal ring. She pray'd me when I loved 
 A maid with all my heart to pass it down 
 A finger of that hand which should be mine 
 Thereafter. Will you have it ? Will you wear it ? 
 
 Marian. 
 Ay, noble Earl, and never part with it. 
 
 Sir Richard Lea (coming up). 
 Not till she clean forget thee, noble Earl. 
 
 Marian. 
 
 Forget him — never — by this Holy Cross 
 
 Which good King Richard gave me when a child- 
 
 Never 1
 
 300 THE FORESTERS act i 
 
 Not while the swallow skims along the ground, 
 And while the lark flies up and touches heaven ! 
 Not while the smoke floats from the cottage roof, 
 And the white cloud is roU'd along the sky ! 
 Not while the rivulet babbles by the door. 
 And the great breaker beats upon the beach ! 
 Never — 
 
 Till Nature, high and low, and great and small 
 Forgets herself, and all her loves and hates 
 Sink again into chaos. 
 
 Sir Richard Lea. 
 
 Away ! away ! 
 
 \_Exeunt to music. 
 
 Scene III. — Same as Scene II. 
 Robin and his men. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 All gone ! — my ring — I am happy — should be happy. 
 She took my ring. I trust she loves me — yet 
 I heard this Sheriff" tell her he would pay 
 The mortgage if she favour'd him. I fear 
 Not her, the father's power upon her. 
 
 Friends, {to his men) 
 I am only merry for an hour or two
 
 SCENE III THE FORESTERS 301 
 
 Upon a birthday : if this life of ours 
 
 Be a good glad thing, why should we make us merry 
 
 Because a year of it is gone ? but Hope 
 
 Smiles from the threshold of the year to come 
 
 Whispering * it will be happier,' and old faces 
 
 Press round us, and warm hands close with warm 
 
 hands, 
 And thro' the blood the wine leaps to the brain 
 Like April sap to the topmost tree, that shoots 
 New buds to heaven, whereon the throstle rock'd 
 Sings a new song to the new year — and you 
 Strike up a song, my friends, and then to bed. 
 
 Little John. 
 What will you have, my lord ? 
 
 Robin. 
 
 * To sleep ! to sleep 1 ' 
 
 Little John, 
 
 There is a touch of sadness in it, my lord, 
 But ill befitting such a festal day. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 I have a touch of sadness in myself. 
 Sing.
 
 302 THE FORESTERS 
 
 SONG. 
 
 ACT I 
 
 To sleep .' to sleep I The long bright day is done, 
 
 And darkness rises from the fallen sun. 
 
 To sleep ! to sleep I 
 
 Whatever thy joys, they vanish with the day ; 
 
 Whatever thy griefs, in sleep they fade away. 
 
 To sleep ! to sleep ! 
 
 Sleep, mournful heart, and let the past be past ! 
 
 Sleep, happy soul J all life will sleep at last. 
 
 To sleep ! to sleep / 
 
 \_A trumpet blown at the gates. 
 
 Robin. 
 Who breaks the stillness of the morning thus ? 
 
 Little John {going out and returning). 
 It is a royal messenger, my lord : 
 I trust he brings us news of the King's coming. 
 
 Enter a Pursuivant who reads. 
 
 O yes, O yes, O yes ! In the name of the Regent. 
 Thou, Robin Hood Earl of Huntingdon art attainted 
 and hast lost thine earldom of Huntingdon. More- 
 over thou art dispossessed of all thy lands, goods, 
 and chattels j and by virtue of this writ, whereas
 
 SCENE III THE FORESTERS 303 
 
 Robin Hood Earl of Huntingdon by force and arms 
 hath trespassed against the king in divers manners, 
 therefore by the judgment of the officers of the said 
 lord king, according to the law and custom of the 
 kingdom of England Robin Hood Earl of Huntingdon 
 is outlawed and banished. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 I have shelter'd some that broke the forest laws. 
 This is irregular and the work of John. 
 
 [' Irregular, irregular ! {tumult) Down with 
 him, tear his coat from his back ! ' 
 
 Messenger. 
 Ho there ! ho there, the Sheriffs men without ! 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Nay, let them be, man, let them be. We yield. 
 How should we cope with John? The London 
 
 folkmote 
 Has made him all but king, and he hath seized 
 On half the royal castles. Let him alone ! {to his men) 
 A worthy messenger ! how should he help it ? 
 Shall we too work injustice ? what, thou shakest ! 
 Here, here — a cup of wine — drink and begone ! 
 
 [^Exit Messenger.
 
 304 THE FORESTERS act i 
 
 We will away in four- and- twenty hours, 
 But shall we leave our England ? 
 
 Tuck. 
 
 Robin, Earl — 
 
 Robin. 
 Let be the Earl. Henceforth I am no more 
 Than plain man to plain man. 
 
 Tuck. 
 
 Well, then, plain man, 
 There be good fellows there in merry Sherwood 
 That hold by Richard, tho' they kill his deer. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 In Sherwood Forest. I have heard of them. 
 Have they no leader? 
 
 Tuck. 
 Each man for his own. 
 Be thou their leader and they will all of them 
 Swarm to thy voice like bees to the brass pan. 
 
 ROBEN. 
 
 They hold by Richard — the wild wood ! to cast 
 All threadbare household habit, mix with all
 
 SCENE III THE FORESTERS 305 
 
 The lusty life of wood and underwood, 
 Hawk, buzzard, jay, the mavis and the merle, 
 The tawny squirrel vaulting thro' the boughs, 
 The deer, the highback'd polecat, the wild boar, 
 The burrowing badger — By St. Nicholas 
 I have a sudden passion for the wild wood — 
 We should be free as air in the wild wood — 
 WTiat say you ? shall we go ? Your hands, your hands ! 
 
 [ Gives his hand to each. 
 You, Scarlet, you are always moody here. 
 
 Scarlet. 
 'Tis for no lack of love to you, my lord, 
 But lack of happiness in a blatant wife. 
 She broke my head on Tuesday with a dish. 
 I would have thwack'd the woman, but I did not. 
 Because thou sayest such fine things of women. 
 But I shall have to thwack her if I stay. 
 
 Robin. 
 Would it be better for thee in the wood? 
 
 Scarlet. 
 Ay, so she did not follow me to the wood. 
 
 Robin. 
 Then, Scarlet, thou at least wilt go with me. 
 Thou, Much, the miller's son, 1 knew thy father : 
 
 VOL. VI. X
 
 J 
 
 06 THE FORESTERS act i 
 
 He was a manly man, as thou art, Much, 
 And gray before his time as thou art, Much. 
 
 Much. 
 It is the trick of the family, my lord. 
 There was a song he made to the turning wheel- 
 
 ROBIN. 
 
 ' Turn ! turn ! ' but I forget it. 
 
 Much, 
 
 I can sing it. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Not now, good Much ! And thou, dear Little John, 
 
 Who hast that worship for me which Heaven knows 
 
 I ill deserve — you love me, all of you, 
 
 But I am outlaw'd, and if caught, I die. 
 
 Your hands again. All thanks for all your service ; 
 
 But if you follow me, you may die with me. 
 
 All. 
 
 We will live and die with thee, we will live and die 
 with thee. 
 
 END OF ACT I.
 
 ACT II 
 THE FLIGHT OF MARIAN
 
 ACT ir 
 
 Scene I. — A broad fores f glade, 7voodman's hut at one 
 side with half-door, Foresters are looking to their 
 bows and arrows^ or polishing their swords. 
 
 Foresters sing {as they disperse to their work) . 
 
 There is no land like England 
 
 Where'er the light (f day be ; 
 There a?-e no hearts like English hearts 
 
 Such hearts of oak as they be. 
 There is no land like England 
 
 Wliere'er the light of day be ; 
 There a7-e no men like Englishnen 
 
 So tall and bold as they be. 
 
 309
 
 3IO THE FORESTERS act ii 
 
 (Full chorus.) And these will strike for Engla7id 
 And man and maid be f/re 
 To foil and spoil the tyrant 
 Beneath the greenwood tree. 
 
 There is no land like Ejigland 
 Where'er the light of day be ; 
 
 » 
 
 There are no wives like English wives 
 
 So fair atid chaste as they be. 
 There is no land like England 
 
 Where'er the light of day be ; 
 There are no maids like English maids 
 
 So beautiful as they be. 
 
 (Full chorus.) And these shall wed with freemen, 
 And all their sons be free. 
 To sing the songs of England 
 Beneath the greenwood tree. 
 
 Robin {alone). 
 
 My lonely hour ! 
 
 The king of day hath stept from off his throne, 
 Flung by the golden mantle of the cloud, 
 And sets, a naked fire. The King of England 
 Perchance this day may sink as gloriously.
 
 SCENE I THE FORESTERS 311 
 
 Red with his own and enemy's blood — but no ! 
 
 We hear he is in prison. It is my birthday. 
 
 I have reign'd one year in the wild wood. My mother, 
 
 For whose sake, and the blessed Queen of Heaven, 
 
 I reverence all women, bad me, dying, 
 
 Whene'er this day should come about, to carve 
 
 One lone hour from it, so to meditate 
 
 Upon my greater nearness to the birthday 
 
 Of the after-life, when all the sheeted dead 
 
 Are shaken from their stillness in the grave 
 
 By the last trumpet. 
 
 Am I worse or better? 
 I am outlaw'd. I am none the worse for that. 
 I held for Richard, and I hated John. 
 I am a thief, ay, and a king of thieves. 
 Ay ! but we rob the robber, wrong the wronger, 
 And what we wring from them we give the poor. 
 I am none the worse for that, and all the better 
 For this free forest-life, for while I sat 
 Among my thralls in my baronial hall 
 The groining hid the heavens ; but since I breathed, 
 A houseless head beneath the sun and stars, 
 The soul of the woods hath stricken thro' my blood, 
 The love of freedom, the desire of God, 
 The hope of larger life hereafter, more 
 Tenfold than under roof. \_Horn blowri. 
 
 True, were I taken
 
 312 THE FORESTERS act ii 
 
 They would prick out my sight. A price is set 
 On this poor head ; but I beUeve there lives 
 No man who truly loves and truly rules 
 His following, but can keep his followers true. 
 I am one with mine. Traitors are rarely bred 
 Save under traitor kings. Our vice-king John, 
 True king of vice — true play on words — our John 
 By his Norman arrogance and dissoluteness, 
 Hath made 7ne king of all the discontent 
 Of England up thro' all the forest land 
 North to the Tyne : being outlaw'd in a land 
 Where law Hes dead, we make ourselves the law. 
 Why break you thus upon my lonely hour ? 
 
 Enter Little John and Kate. 
 
 Little John. 
 I found this white doe wandering thro' the wood. 
 Not thine, but mine. I have shot her thro' the heart. 
 
 Kate. 
 He lies, my lord. I have shot him thro' the heart. 
 
 Robin. 
 My God, thou art the very woman who waits 
 On my dear Marian. Tell me, tell me of her. 
 Thou comest a very angel out of heaven. 
 Where is she ? and how fares she ?
 
 SCENE I THE FORESTERS 31 ■? 
 
 Kate. 
 
 O my good lord, 
 
 I am but an angel by reflected light. 
 
 Your heaven is vacant of your angel. John — 
 
 Shame on him ! — 
 
 Stole on her, she was walking in the garden, 
 
 And after some slight speech about the Sheriff 
 
 He caught her round the waist, whereon she struck him, 
 
 And fled into the castle. She and Sir Richard 
 
 Have past away, I know not where ; and I 
 
 Was left alone, and knowing as I did 
 
 That I had shot him thro' the heart, I came 
 
 To eat him up and make an end of him. 
 
 Little John. 
 In kisses? 
 
 Kate. 
 You, how dare you mention kisses? 
 But I am weary pacing thro' the wood. 
 Show me some cave or cabin where I may rest. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Go with him. I will talk with thee anon, 
 
 \_Exeunt Little John and Kate. 
 She struck him, my brave Marian, struck the Prince, 
 The serpent that had crept into the garden
 
 314 THE FORESTERS act ii 
 
 And coil'd himself about her sacred waist. 
 
 I think I should have stricken him to the death. 
 
 He never will forgive her. 
 
 O the Sheriff 
 Would pay this cursed mortgage to his brother 
 If Marian would marry him \ and the son 
 Is most like dead — if so the land may come 
 To Marian, and they rate the land five-fold 
 The worth of the mortgage, and who marries her 
 Marries the land. Most honourable Sheriff ! 
 (^Passionately) Gone, and it may be gone for evermore ! 
 
 would that I could see her for a moment 
 Glide like a light across these woodland ways ! 
 Tho' in one moment she should glance away, 
 
 1 should be happier for it all the year. 
 
 O would she moved beside me like my shadow ! 
 O would she stood before me as my queen, 
 To make this Sherwood Eden o'er again, 
 And these rough oaks the palms of Paradise ! 
 
 Ah ! but who be those three yonder with bows? — 
 not of my band — the Sheriff, and by heaven. Prince 
 John himself and one of those mercenaries that suck 
 the blood of England. My people are all scattered I 
 know not where. Have they come for me? Here 
 is the -ivitch's hut. The fool-people call her a witch 
 — a good witch to me ! I will shelter here. 
 
 \_Knocks at the door of the hut.
 
 SCENE I THE FORESTERS 315 
 
 Old Woman comes out. 
 Old Woman {kisses his hand). 
 
 Ah dear Robin ! ah noble captain, friend of the 
 
 poor ! 
 
 RoBEsr. 
 
 I am chased by my foes. I have forgotten my 
 horn that calls my men together. Disguise me — thy 
 gown and thy coif. 
 
 Old Woman. 
 
 Come in, come in ; I would give my life for thee, 
 
 for when the Sheriff had taken all our goods for 
 
 the King without paying, our horse and our little 
 
 cart 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Quick, good mother, quick ! 
 
 Old Wo>lan. 
 Ay, ay, gown, coif, and petticoat, and the old 
 woman's blessing with them to the last fringe. 
 
 \_They go in. 
 
 Enter Prince John, Sheriff of Nottingham, 
 and Mercenary. 
 
 Prince John. 
 Did we not hear the two would pass this way ? 
 They must have past. Here is a woodman's hut.
 
 3i6 THE FORESTERS act li 
 
 Mercenary. 
 
 Take heed, take heed ! in Nottingham they say 
 There bides a foul witch somewhere hereabout. 
 
 Sheriff. 
 Not in this hut I take it. 
 
 Prince John. 
 
 Why not here ? 
 
 Sheriff. 
 I saw a man go in, my lord. 
 
 Prince John. 
 
 Not two? 
 
 Sheriff. 
 No, my lord, one. 
 
 Prince John. 
 Make for the cottage then ! 
 
 Interior of the hut. 
 
 Robin disguised as old woman. 
 
 Prince John {without). 
 Knock again ! knock again !
 
 SCENE I THE FORESTERS 317 
 
 Robin (/^ Old Woman). 
 
 Get thee into the closet there, and make a 
 ghostly wail ever and anon to scare 'em. 
 
 Old Woman. 
 I will, I will, good Robin. [ Goes into closet. 
 
 Prince John {7vithoiif). 
 
 Open, open, or I will drive the door from the 
 doorpost. 
 
 Robin {opens door). 
 
 Come in, come in. 
 
 Prince John. 
 Why did ye keep us at the door so long? 
 
 Robin {curtseying) . 
 I was afear'd it was the ghost, your worship. 
 
 Prince John. 
 Ghost ! did one in white pass ? 
 
 Robin {curtseying). 
 No, your worship. 
 
 Prince John. 
 Did two knights pass?
 
 3i8 THE FORESTERS act ii 
 
 Robin (^curtseying) . 
 No, your worship. 
 
 Sheriff. 
 I fear me we have lost our labour, then. 
 
 Prince John. 
 Except this old hag have been bribed to lie. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 We old hags should be bribed to speak truth, for, 
 God help us, we lie by nature. 
 
 Prince John. 
 There was a man just now that enter'd here? 
 
 Robin. 
 There is but one old woman in the hut. 
 
 [Old Woman ye//s. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 I crave your worship's pardon. There is yet an- 
 other old woman. She was murdered here a hundred 
 year ago, and whenever a murder is to be done 
 again she yells out i' this way — so they say, your 
 worship.
 
 scene i the foresters 319 
 
 Mercenary. 
 
 Now, if I hadn't a sprig o' wickentree sewn into 
 my dress, I should run. 
 
 Prince John. 
 
 Tut ! tut ! the scream of some wild woodland thing. 
 How came we to be parted from our men? 
 We shouted, and they shouted, as I thought. 
 But shout and echo play'd into each other 
 So hollowly we knew not which was which. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 The wood is full of echoes, owls, elfs, ouphes, oafs, 
 ghosts o' the mist, wills-o'-the-wisp ; only they that 
 be bred in it can find their way a-nights in it. 
 
 Prince John. 
 
 I am footsore and famish'd therewithal. 
 
 Is there aught there? {^Pointing to cupboard. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Naught for the likes o' you. 
 
 Prince John. 
 Speak straight out, crookback.
 
 320 THE FORESTERS act ii 
 
 Robin. 
 Sour milk and black bread. 
 
 Prince John. 
 
 Well, set them forth. I could eat anything. 
 
 \^He sets out a table with black bread. 
 This is mere marble. Old hag, how should thy 
 one tooth drill thro' this ? 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Nay, by St. Gemini, I ha' two ; and since the 
 Sheriff left me naught but an empty belly, they can 
 meet upon anything thro' a millstone. You gentles 
 that live upo' manchet-bread and marchpane, what 
 should you know o' the food o' the poor? Look you 
 here, before you can eat it you must hack it with a 
 hatchet, break it all to pieces, as you break the poor, 
 as you would hack at Robin Hood if you could light 
 upon him {hacks it and flings two pieces^. There's for 
 you, and there's for you — and the old woman's 
 welcome. 
 
 Prince John. 
 
 The old wretch is mad, and her bread is beyond 
 me : and the milk — faugh ! Hast thou anything to 
 sweeten this?
 
 SCENE I THE FORESTERS 321 
 
 Robin. 
 Here's a pot o' wild honey from an old oak, saving 
 your sweet reverences. 
 
 Sheriff. 
 Thou hast a cow then, hast thou ? 
 
 Robin. 
 Ay, for when the Sheriff took my little horse for 
 the King without paying for it 
 
 Sheriff. 
 How hadst thou then the means to buy a cow? 
 
 Robin. 
 Eh, I would ha' given my whole body to the King 
 had he asked for it, like the woman at Acre when the 
 Turk shot her as she was helping to build the mound 
 against the city. I ha' served the King living, says 
 she, and let me serve him dead, says she ; let me go 
 to make the mound : bury me in the mound, says the 
 woman. 
 
 Sheriff. 
 Ay, but the cow ? 
 
 Robin. 
 
 She was given me. 
 VOL. VI. y
 
 322 THE FORESTERS actii 
 
 Sheriff. 
 By whom ? 
 
 Robin. 
 By a thief. 
 
 Sheriff. 
 Who, woman, who? 
 
 Robin {sings). 
 He was a forester good ; 
 He was the cock o' the walk; 
 He was the king o^ the wood. 
 
 Your worship may find another rhyme if you care 
 to drag your brains for such a minnow. 
 
 Sheriff. 
 That cow was mine. I have lost a cow from my 
 meadow. Robin Hood was it ? I thought as much. 
 He ^vill come to the gibbet at last. 
 
 [Old Woman yells. 
 Mercenary. 
 
 O sweet sir, talk not of cows. You anger the 
 spirit. 
 
 Prince John. 
 Anger the scritch-owl. 
 
 Mercenary. 
 But, my lord, the scritch-owl bodes death, my lord.
 
 SCENE I THE FORESTERS 323 
 
 Robin. 
 I beseech you all to speak lower. Robin may be 
 hard by wi' three-score of his men. He often looks 
 in here by the moonshine. Beware of Robin. 
 
 [Old Woman j'^/A. 
 
 Mercenary. 
 Ah, do you hear? There may be murder done. 
 
 Sheriff. 
 Have you not finished, my lord? 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Thou hast crost him in love, and I have heard 
 him swear he will be even wi' thee. 
 
 [Old Woman yells. 
 
 Mercenary. 
 
 Now is my heart so down in my heels that if I 
 stay, I can't run. 
 
 Sheriff. 
 Shall we not go ? 
 
 Robin. 
 
 And, old hag tho' I be, I can spell the hand. 
 Give me thine. Ay, ay, the line o' life is marked 
 enow; but look, there is a cross line o' sudden death.
 
 324 THE FORESTERS act ii 
 
 I pray thee go, go, for tho' thou wouldst bar me fro' 
 the milk o' my cow, I wouldn't have thy blood on 
 my hearth. 
 
 Prince John. 
 Why do you listen, man, to the old fool ? 
 
 Sheriff. 
 
 I will give thee a silver penny if thou wilt show us 
 the way back to Nottingham. 
 
 Robin {with a very low cvrtsey). 
 All the sweet saints bless your worship for your 
 alms to the old woman ! but make haste then, and be 
 silent in the wood. Follow me. 
 
 \Takes his bow. 
 
 (They come out of the hut and close the door carefully.) 
 
 Outside hut. 
 
 Robin. 
 Softly ! softly ! there may be a thief in every bush. 
 
 Prince John. 
 
 How should this old lamester guide us? Where 
 is thy goodman?
 
 SCENE I THE FORESTERS 
 
 32s 
 
 Robin. 
 The saints were so kind to both on us that he 
 was dead before he was born. 
 
 Prince John. 
 Half-witted and a witch to boot ! Mislead us, 
 and I will have thy life ! and what doest thou with 
 that who art more bow-bent than the very bow thou 
 carriest ? 
 
 Robin. 
 I keep it to kill nightingales. 
 
 Prince John. 
 
 Nightingales ! 
 
 Robin. 
 
 You see, they are so fond o' their own voices that 
 I cannot sleep o' nights by cause on 'em. 
 
 Prince John. 
 True soul of the Saxon churl for whom song has 
 no charm. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Then I roast 'em, for I have nought else to live on 
 {whines). O your honour, I pray you too to give me 
 an alms. (^To Prince John.)
 
 326 THE FORESTERS act ii 
 
 Sheriff. 
 This is no bow to hit nightingales ; this is a true 
 woodman's bow of the best yew-wood to slay the 
 deer. Look, my lord, there goes one in the moon- 
 light. Shoot ! 
 
 Prince John {shoots). 
 Missed ! There goes another. Shoot, Sheriff ! 
 
 Sheriff {shoots). 
 Missed ! 
 
 Robin. 
 And here comes another. Why, an old woman can 
 shoot closer than you two. 
 
 Prince John. 
 Shoot then, and if thou miss I will fasten thee to 
 thine own doorpost and make thine old carcase a target 
 for us three. 
 
 Robin {raises himself upright, shoots, and hits). 
 Hit ! Did I not tell you an old woman could shoot 
 better? 
 
 Prince John. 
 
 Thou standest straight. Thou speakest manlike. 
 Thou art no old woman — thou art disguised — thou art 
 one of the thieves. 
 
 \_Makes a clutch at the gown, which comes in pieces 
 and falls, showing Robin in his forester" s dress.
 
 SCENE I THE FORESTERS 327 
 
 Sheriff. 
 It is the very captain of the thieves ! 
 
 Prince John. 
 
 We have him at last ; we have him at advantage. 
 Strike, Sheriff! Strike, mercenary! 
 
 \_They draw swords and attack him ; 
 he defends hi?nself with his. 
 
 Enter Little John. 
 Little John. 
 I have lodged my pretty Katekin in her bower. 
 
 How now? Clashing of swords — three upon one, 
 and that one our Robin ! Rogues, have you no man- 
 hood ? [_Dnn(.is and defends Robin. 
 
 Enter Sir Richard Lea {draivs his sword). 
 Sir Richard Lea. 
 Old as I am, I will not brook to see 
 Three upon two. 
 
 (Maid Marian in the armour of a Red-cross Knight 
 follows half unsheathing her sword and half seen ^ 
 
 Back ! back ! I charge thee, back ! 
 Is this a game for thee to play at ? Away. 
 
 (She retires to the fringe of the copse ^ 
 
 \_He fights on Robin's side. The other 
 three are beaten off and exeunt.
 
 328 THE FORESTERS act ii 
 
 Enter Friar Tuck. 
 
 Friar Tuck. 
 I am too late then with my quarterstaff ! 
 
 Robin. 
 Quick, friar, follow them : 
 See whether there be more of 'em in the wood. 
 
 Frmr Tuck. 
 On the gallop, on the gallop, Robin, like a deer 
 from a dog, or a colt from a gad-fly, or a stump- 
 tailed ox in May-time, or the cow that jumped over 
 the moon. \_Exit. 
 
 Robin. 
 Nay, nay, but softly, lest they spy thee, friar ! 
 
 \To Sir Richard Lea who reels. 
 Take thou mine arm. Who art thou, gallant knight ? 
 
 Sir Richard. 
 
 Robin, I am Sir Richard of the Lea. 
 
 Who be those three that I have fought withal? 
 
 Robin. 
 Prince John, the Sheriff, and a mercenary.
 
 SCENE I THE FORESTERS 329 
 
 Sir Richard. 
 
 Prince John again. We are flying from this John. 
 The Sheriff — I am grieved it was the Sheriff; 
 For, Robin, he must be my son-in-law. 
 Thou art an outlaw, and couldst never pay 
 The mortgage on my land. Thou wilt not see 
 My Marian more. So — so — I have presumed 
 Beyond my strength. Give me a draught of wine. 
 
 [Marian comes forward. 
 This is my son but late escaped from prison, 
 For whom I ran into my debt to the Abbot, 
 Two thousand marks in gold. I have paid him half. 
 That other thousand — shall I ever pay it? 
 A draught of wine. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Our cellar is hard by. 
 Take him, good Little John, and give him wine. 
 
 \_Exit Sir Richard leaning on Little John. 
 A brave old fellow but he angers me. 
 
 \To Maid Marian who is following, her father. 
 Young Walter, nay, I pray thee, stay a moment. 
 
 Marian. 
 
 A moment for some matter of no moment ! 
 
 Well — ! take and use your moment, while you may.
 
 330 THE FORESTERS act ii 
 
 Robin. 
 Thou art her brother, and her voice is thine, 
 Her face is thine, and if thou be as gentle 
 Give me some news of my sweet Marian. 
 Where is she? 
 
 Marian. 
 
 Thy sweet Marian? I beUeve 
 She came with me into the forest here. 
 
 Robin. 
 She follow'd thee into the forest here ? 
 
 Marian. 
 Nay — that, my friend, I am sure I did not say. 
 
 Robin. 
 Thou blowest hot and cold. Where is she then ? 
 
 Marian. 
 Is she not here with thee?. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Would God she were ! 
 
 Marian. 
 If not with thee I know not where she is. 
 She may have lighted on your fairies here, 
 And now be skipping in their fairy- rings. 
 And capering hand in hand with Oberon.
 
 SCENE I THE FORESTERS 331 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Peace ! 
 
 Marian. 
 
 Or learning witchcraft of your woodland witch 
 And how to charm and waste the hearts of men. 
 
 Robin. 
 That is not brother-like. 
 
 Marian (^pointing to the sky^. 
 
 Or there perchance 
 Up yonder with the man i' the moon. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Marian. 
 Or haply fallen a victim to the wolf. 
 
 Robin. 
 Tut ! be there wolves in Sherwood ? 
 
 Marian. 
 
 No more ! 
 
 The wolf, John 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Curse him ! but thou art mocking me. Thou art 
 Her brother — I forgive thee. Come be thou 
 My brother too. She loves me.
 
 332 THE FORESTERS act ii 
 
 Marian. 
 
 Doth she so? 
 Robin. 
 
 Do you doubt me when I say she loves me, man? 
 
 Marian. 
 No, but my father will not lose his land, 
 Rather than that would wed her with the Sheriff. 
 
 Robin. 
 Thou hold'st with him ? 
 
 Marian. 
 
 Yes, in some sort I do. 
 He is old and almost mad to keep the land. 
 
 Robin. 
 Thou hold'st with him ? 
 
 Marian. 
 I tell thee, in some sort. 
 
 Robin {angrily). 
 
 Sort ! sort ! what sort ? what sort of man art thou 
 For land, not love ? Thou wilt inherit the land, 
 And so wouldst sell thy sister to the Sheriff,
 
 SCENE I THE FORESTERS zZ'i 
 
 O thou unworthy brother of my dear Marian ! 
 And now, I do bethink me, thou wast by 
 And never drewest sword to help the old man 
 When he was fighting. 
 
 Marian. 
 There were three to three. 
 
 Robin. 
 Thou shouldst have ta'en his place, and fought for him. 
 
 Marian. 
 He did it so well there was no call for me. 
 
 Robin. 
 My God ! 
 
 That such a brother — she marry the Sheriff! 
 Come now, I fain would have a bout with thee. 
 It is but pastime — nay, I will not harm thee. 
 Draw ! 
 
 Marian. 
 
 Earl, I would fight with any man but thee. 
 
 Robin. 
 Ay, ay, because I have a name for prowess. 
 
 Marian. 
 It is not that.
 
 334 THE FORESTERS act II 
 
 Robin. 
 That ! I believe thou fell'st into the hands 
 Of these same Moors thro' nature's baseness, criedst 
 * I yield ' almost before the thing was ask'd, 
 And thro' thy lack of manhood hast betray'd 
 Thy father to the losing of his land. 
 Come, boy ! 'tis but to see if thou canst fence. 
 Draw ! {^Draws. 
 
 Marian. 
 No, Sir Earl, I will not fight to-day. 
 
 Robin. 
 To-morrow then? 
 
 Marian. 
 
 Well, I will fight to-morrow. 
 
 Robin. 
 Give me thy glove upon it. 
 
 Marian (J>uUs off her glove and gives it to him). 
 
 There ! 
 
 Robin. 
 
 O God ! 
 
 What sparkles in the moonlight on thy hand ? 
 
 \_Takes her hand.
 
 SCENE I THE FORESTERS 335 
 
 In that great heat to wed her to the Sheriff 
 Thou hast robb'd my girl of her betrothal ring. 
 
 Marian. 
 No, no ! 
 
 Robin. 
 
 What ! do I not know mine own ring ? 
 
 Marian. 
 I keep it for her. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Nay, she swore it never 
 Should leave her finger. Give it me, by heaven, 
 Or I will force it from thee. 
 
 Marian. 
 
 O Robin, Robin ! 
 
 Robin. 
 
 O my dear Marian, 
 
 Is it thou ? is it thou ? I fall before thee, clasp 
 Thy knees. I am ashamed. Thou shalt not marry 
 The Sheriff, but abide with me who love thee. 
 
 \She moves from him, the moonlight falls upon her. 
 O look ! before the shadow of these dark oaks 
 Thou seem'st a saintly splendour out from heaven,
 
 336 THE FORESTERS ACT H 
 
 Clothed with the mystic silver of her moon. 
 Speak but one word not only of forgiveness, 
 But to show thou art mortal. 
 
 Marian. 
 
 Mortal enough, 
 If love for thee be mortal. Lovers hold 
 True love immortal, Robin, tho' I love thee, 
 We cannot come together in this world. 
 Not mortal ! after death, if after death 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Life, life. I know not death. Why do you vex me 
 With raven-croaks of death and after death ? 
 
 Marian. 
 And I and he are passing overseas : 
 He has a friend there will advance the monies, 
 So now the forest lawns are all as bright 
 As ways to heaven, I pray thee give us guides 
 To lead us thro' the windings of the wood. 
 
 Robin. 
 Must it be so ? If it were so, myself 
 Would guide you thro' the forest to the sea. 
 But go not yet, stay with us, and when thy brother
 
 SCENE I THE FORESTERS 337 
 
 Marian. 
 Robin, I ever held that saying false 
 That Love is blind, but thou hast proven it true. 
 Why — even your woodland squirrel sees the nut 
 Behind the shell, and thee however mask'd 
 I should have known. But thou — to dream that he 
 My brother, my dear Walter — now, perhaps, 
 Fetter'd and lash'd, a galley-slave, or closed 
 For ever in a Moorish tower, or wreckt 
 And dead beneath the midland ocean, he 
 As gentle as he's brave — that such as he 
 Would wrest from me the precious ring I promised 
 Never to part with — No, not he, nor any. 
 I would have battled for it to the death. • 
 
 [/« her exciteme7it she draws her s7Vord. 
 See, thou hast wrong'd my brother and myself. 
 
 Robin {kneeling) . 
 See then, I kneel once more to be forgiven. 
 
 £nfer Scarlet, Much, several of the Foresters, 
 rushing on. 
 
 Scarlet. 
 Look ! look ! he kneels ! he has anger'd the foul witch, 
 Who melts a waxen image by the fire, 
 And drains the heart and marrow from a man. 
 
 VOL. VI. z
 
 338 THE FORESTERS act ii 
 
 Much. 
 Our Robin beaten, pleading for his life ! 
 Seize on the knight ! wrench his sword from him ! 
 
 \They all rush on IMarian. 
 
 Robin {springing up and waving his hand). 
 
 Back! 
 Back all of you ! this is Maid Marian 
 Flying from John — disguised. 
 
 Men. 
 
 Maid Marian ? she ? 
 
 Scarlet. 
 Captain, we saw thee cowering to a knight 
 And thought thou wert bewitch'd. 
 
 Marian. 
 
 You dared to dream 
 That our great Earl, the bravest English heart 
 Since Hereward the Wake, would cower to any 
 Of mortal build. Weak natures that impute 
 Themselves to their unlikes, and their own want 
 Of manhood to their leader ! he would break. 
 Far as he might, the power of John — but you — 
 What rightful cause could grow to such a heat 
 As burns a wrong to ashes, if the followers
 
 SCENE II THE FORESTERS 339 
 
 Of him, who heads the movement, hel.l him craven? 
 Robin — I know not, can I trust myself 
 With your brave band? in some of these may lodge 
 That baseness which for fear or monies, might 
 Betray me to the wild Prince. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 No, love, no ! 
 Not any of these, I swear. 
 
 Men. 
 
 No, no, we swear. 
 
 Scene II. — A?iother Glade in the Forest. 
 Robin and Marian passing. Enter Forester. 
 
 Forester. 
 
 Knight, your good father had his draught of wine 
 And then he swoon'd away. He had been hurt, 
 And bled beneath his armour. Now he cries 
 ' The land ! the land ! ' Come to him. 
 
 Marian. 
 
 O my poor father !
 
 340 THE FORESTERS act n 
 
 Robin. 
 Stay with us in this wood, till he recover. 
 We know all balms and simples of the field 
 To help a wound. Stay with us here, sweet love, 
 Maid Marian, till thou wed what man thou wilt. 
 All here will prize thee, honour, worship thee, 
 Crown thee with flowers ; and he will soon be well : 
 All will be well. 
 
 Marian. 
 
 O lead me to my father ! 
 \_As they are going out enter Little John and 
 Kate who falls oti the neck ^Marian. 
 
 Kate. 
 
 No, no, false knight, thou canst not hide thyself 
 From her who loves thee. 
 
 Little John. 
 
 What ! 
 By all the devils in and out of Hell ! 
 Wilt thou embrace thy sweetheart 'fore my face? 
 Quick with thy sword ! the yeoman braves the knight. 
 There ! {strikes her with the flat of his sword). 
 
 Marian {laying about her). 
 Are the men all mad? there then, and there !
 
 SCENE n THE FORESTERS 341 
 
 Kate. 
 O hold thy hand ! this is our Marian. 
 
 Little John. 
 What ! with this skill of fence ! let go mine arm. 
 
 Robin. 
 Down with thy sword ! She is ray queen and thine, 
 The mistress of the band. 
 
 Marian {sheathing her sword) . 
 
 A maiden now 
 Were ill-bested in these dark days of John, 
 Except she could defend her innocence. 
 
 lead me to my father. 
 
 [^Exeunt Robin and Marian, 
 
 Little John. 
 
 Speak to me, 
 
 1 am like a boy now going to be whipt ; 
 
 I know I have done amiss, have been a fool, 
 Speak to me, Kate, and say you pardon me ! 
 
 Kate. 
 
 I never will speak word to thee again. 
 What ? to mistrust the girl you say you love
 
 342 THE FORESTERS act n 
 
 Is to mistrust your own love for your girl ! 
 How should you love if you mistrust your love ? 
 
 Little John. 
 
 Kate, true love and jealousy are twins, 
 And love is joyful, innocent, beautiful, 
 And jealousy is wither'd, sour and ugly : 
 Yet are they twins and always go together. 
 
 Kate, 
 Well, well, until they cease to go together, 
 
 1 am but a stone and a dead stock to thee. 
 
 Little John, 
 I thought I saw thee clasp and kiss a man 
 And it was but a woman. Pardon me, 
 
 Kate, 
 Ay, for I much disdain thee, but if ever 
 Thou see me clasp and kiss a man indeed, 
 I will again be thine, and not till then. \_Exit. 
 
 Little John, 
 I have been a fool and I have lost my Kate. {Exit. 
 
 Re-enter Robin,
 
 SCENE II THE FORESTERS 343 
 
 Robin. 
 He dozes. I have left her watching him. 
 She will not marry till her father yield. 
 The old man dotes. 
 
 Nay — and she will not marry till Richard come, 
 And that's at latter Lammas — never perhaps. 
 Besides, tho' Friar Tuck might make us one, 
 An outlaw's bride may not be wife in law. 
 I am weary. \_Lying down on a bank. 
 
 What's here ? a dead bat in the fairy ring — 
 Yes, I remember. Scarlet hacking down 
 A hollow ash, a bat flew out at him 
 In the clear noon, and hook'd him by the hair, 
 And he was scared and slew it. My men say 
 The fairies haunt this glade ; — if one could catch 
 A glimpse of them and of their fairy Queen — 
 Have our loud pastimes driven them all away ? 
 I never saw them : yet I could believe 
 There came some evil fairy at my birth 
 And cursed me, as the last heir of my race : 
 ' This boy will never wed the maid he loves, 
 Nor leave a child behind him ' (^yawns') . Weary — 
 
 weary 
 As iho' a spell were on me {lie dreams). 
 
 [ The whole stage lights up, and fairies are seen swing- 
 ing on boughs and nestling in hollow trunks.
 
 344 THE FORESTERS ' act il 
 
 TiTANiA on a hill. Fairies on either side of her. 
 The moon above the hill. 
 
 First Fairy. 
 Evil fairy! do you hear? 
 So he said who lieth here. 
 
 Second Fairy. 
 We be fairies of the wood, 
 We be 7ieither bad nor good. 
 
 First Fairy. 
 Back and side and hip and rib, 
 Nip, nip him for his fib. 
 
 Titania. 
 Nip him not, but let him snore. 
 We must flit for evermore. 
 
 First Fairy. 
 Tit, my queen, must it be so ? 
 Wherefore, wherefore should we go? 
 
 Titania. 
 / Titania bid you flit. 
 And you dare to call me Tit.
 
 SCENE 11 THE FORESTERS 345 
 
 First Fairy. 
 Tit, for love and brevity, 
 Not for love of levity. 
 
 TiTANIA. 
 
 Pertest of our flickering mob, 
 Wouldst thou call my Oberon Ob ? 
 
 First Fairy. 
 Nay, an please your Elfin Grace, 
 Never Ob before his face. 
 
 TiTANIA. 
 
 Fairy realm is breaking down 
 When the fairy slights the croivn. 
 
 First Fairy. 
 No, by wisp and glowworm, no. 
 Only wherefore should we go ? 
 
 TiTANIA. 
 
 We must fly from Robin Hood 
 And this new queen of the wood. 
 
 First Fairy. 
 
 True, she is a goodly thing. 
 Jealousy, jealousy of the king.
 
 346 THE FORESTERS act ii 
 
 TiTANIA. 
 
 Nay, for Oberon fled away 
 Twenty thotisajid leagues to-day. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Look, there comes a deputation 
 From our finikin fairy nation. 
 
 Enter several Fairies. 
 
 Third Fairy. 
 
 Crush'd my bat whereon I flew. 
 Found him dead and drench' d in dew, 
 
 Queen. 
 
 Fourth Fairy. 
 Quash' d my frog that used to quack 
 When I vaulted on his back, 
 
 Queen. 
 
 Fifth Fairy. 
 KiWd the sward where'er they sat, 
 
 Queen. 
 
 Sixth Fairy. 
 Lusty bracken beaten flat, 
 
 Queen.
 
 SCENE II THE FORESTERS 347 
 
 Seventh Fairy. 
 
 Honest daisy deadly bruised, 
 
 Queen. 
 
 Eighth Fairy. 
 
 Modest maiden lily abused, 
 
 Queen. 
 
 Ninth Fairy. 
 
 Beetle' s jewel armour crack' d, 
 
 Queen. 
 
 Tenth Fairy. 
 
 Reed I rock'd upon broken-back' d, 
 
 Queen. 
 
 Fairies {in chorus') . 
 
 We be scared with song a?id shout. 
 Arrows whistle all about. 
 All our games be put to rout. 
 All our rings be trampled out. 
 Lead us thou to some deep glen. 
 Far from solid foot of men, 
 Never to return again, 
 
 Queen.
 
 348 THE FORESTERS act \l 
 
 TiTANiA {to First Fairy). 
 
 Elf, with spiteful heart and eye, 
 Talk of jealousy ? You see tuhy 
 We must leave the wood and fly. 
 
 (To all the fairies who sing at intervals with Titania.) 
 
 Up with you, out of the fo7-est and over the hills and 
 away. 
 
 And over this Robin Hood^s bay ! 
 
 Up thro'' the light of the seas by the moo7i's long-silver- 
 ing ray I 
 
 To a land where the fay. 
 
 Not an eye to survey, 
 
 In the night, in the day. 
 
 Can have frolic and play. 
 
 Up with you, all of you, out of it / hear and obey. 
 
 Man, lying here alone, 
 
 Moody creature. 
 
 Of a nature 
 
 Stronger, sadder than my own. 
 
 Were I human, were I human, 
 
 I could love you like a woman. 
 
 Man, man. 
 
 You shall wed your Marian. 
 
 She is true, and you are true^
 
 SCENE n THE FORESTERS 349 
 
 And you love her and she loves you ; 
 Both be happy, and adieu for ever and for evenyiore — 
 adieu. 
 
 Robin {half waking). 
 Shall I be happy ? Happy vision, stay. 
 
 TiTANIA. 
 
 Up with you, all of you, off with you, out of it, over the 
 wood and away ! 
 
 END OF ACT II. 
 
 N'ote. — In the stage copy of my play I have had this 
 Fairy Scene transferred to the end of the Third Act, for 
 the sake of modern dramatic effect.
 
 ACT III 
 
 THE CROWNING OF MARIAN
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I. — Heart of the forest 
 
 Marian and Kate {in Fo?-esters^ green) . 
 
 Kate. 
 What makes you seem so cold to Robin, lady ? 
 
 Marian. 
 What makes thee think I seem so cold to Robin ? 
 
 Kate. 
 
 You never whisper close as lovers do, 
 Nor care to leap into each other's arms. 
 
 Marian. 
 
 There is a fence I cannot overleap, 
 
 My father's will. 
 VOL, VI. 2 a 353
 
 354 THE FORESTERS act iii 
 
 Kate, 
 Then you will wed the Sheriff ? 
 
 Marian. 
 
 When heaven falls, I may light on such a lark ! 
 But who art thou to catechize me — thou 
 That hast not made it up with Little John ! 
 
 Kate. 
 I wait till Little John makes up to me. 
 
 Marian. 
 Why, my good Robin fancied me a man. 
 And drew his sword upon me, and Little John 
 Fancied he saw thee clasp and kiss a man, 
 
 Kate. 
 Well, if he fancied that / fancy a man 
 Other than /«>«, he is not the man for me. 
 
 Marian. 
 
 And that would quite ««man him, heart and soul. 
 For both are thine. 
 
 {Looking up. ) 
 
 But listen — overhead —
 
 SCENE I THE FORESTERS 355 
 
 Fluting, and piping and luting * Love, love, love ' — 
 
 Those sweet tree-Cupids half-way up in heaven, 
 
 The birds — would I were one of 'em ! O good Kate— 
 
 If my man-Robin were but a bird-Robin, 
 
 How happily would we lilt among the leaves 
 
 * Love, love, love, love' — what merry madness — listen ! 
 
 And let them warm thy heart to Little John. 
 
 Look where he comes ! 
 
 Kate. 
 
 I will not meet him yet, 
 I'll watch him from behind the trees, but call 
 Kate when you will, for I am close at hand. 
 
 Kate stands aside and enter Robin, and after him at 
 a little distance Little John, Much the Miller's 
 son, and Scarlet with an oaken chaplet, and other 
 Foresters. 
 
 Little John. 
 My lord — Robin — I crave pardon — you always 
 seem to me my lord — I Little John, he Much the 
 miller's son, and he Scarlet, honouring all womankind, 
 and more especially my lady Marian, do here, in the 
 name of all our woodmen, present her with this 
 oaken chaplet as Queen of the wood, I Little John,
 
 356 THE FORESTERS act in 
 
 he, young Scarlet, and he, old Much, and all the rest 
 of us. 
 
 Much. 
 
 And I, old Much, say as much, for being every 
 inch a man I honour every inch of a woman. 
 
 Robin. 
 Friend Scarlet, art thou less a man than Much? 
 Why art thou mute ? Dost thou not honour woman ? 
 
 Scarlet. 
 Robin, I do, but I have a bad wife. 
 
 Robin. 
 Then let her pass as an exception, Scarlet. 
 
 Scarlet. 
 So I would, Robin, if any man would accept her. 
 
 Marian {^puts on the chaplei). 
 Had I a bulrush now in this right hand 
 For sceptre, I were like a queen indeed. 
 Comrades, I thank you for your loyalty, 
 And take and wear this symbol of your love ; 
 And were my kindly father sound again, 
 Could live as happy as the larks in heaven,
 
 SCENE I THE FORESTERS 357 
 
 And join your feasts and all your forest games 
 As far as maiden might. Farewell, good fellows ! 
 
 \Exeunt several foresters, the others withdraxt 
 to the back. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Sit here by me, where the most beaten track 
 Runs thro' the forest, hundreds of huge oaks, 
 Gnarl'd — older than the thrones of Europe — look, 
 What breadth, height, strength — torrents of eddying 
 
 bark! 
 Some hollow-hearted from exceeding age — 
 That never be thy lot or mine ! — and some 
 Pillaring a leaf-sky on their monstrous boles, 
 Sound at the core as we are. Fifty leagues 
 Of woodland hear and know my horn, that scares 
 The Baron at the torture of his churls. 
 The pillage of his vassals. 
 
 O maiden-wife, 
 The oppression of our people moves me so. 
 That when I think of it hotly. Love himself 
 Seems but a ghost, but when thou feel'st with me 
 The ghost returns to Marian, clothes itself 
 In maiden flesh and blood, and looks at once 
 Maid Marian, and that maiden freedom which 
 Would never brook the tyrant. Live thou maiden ! 
 Thou art more my wife so feeling, than if my wife
 
 35 8 THE FORESTERS Acriii 
 
 And siding with these proud priests, and these 
 
 Barons, 
 Devils, that make this blessed England hell. 
 
 Marmn. 
 Earl 
 
 Robin. 
 Nay, no Earl am I. I am English yeoman. 
 
 Marian. 
 Then / am yeo-woman. O the clumsy word ! 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Take thou this light kiss for thy clumsy word. 
 Kiss me again. 
 
 Marian. 
 
 Robin, I will not kiss thee, 
 For that belongs to marriage ; but I hold thee 
 The husband of my heart, the noblest light 
 That ever flash'd across my life, and I 
 Embrace thee \vith the kisses of the soul. 
 
 Robin. 
 I thank thee. 
 
 M-^RIAN. 
 
 Scarlet told me — is it true? — 
 That John last week return'd to Nottingham, 
 And all the foolish world is pressing thither.
 
 SCENE I THE FORESTERS 359 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Sit here, my queen, and judge the world with me. 
 Doubtless, like judges of another bench, 
 However wise, we must at times have wrought 
 Some great injustice, yet, far as we knew, 
 We never robb'd one triend of the true King. 
 We robb'd the traitors that are leagued with John ; 
 We robb'd the lawyer who went against the law ; 
 We spared the craftsman, chapman, all that live 
 By their own hands, the labourer, the poor priest ; 
 We spoil'd the prior, friar, abbot, monk, 
 For playing upside down with Holy Writ. 
 ' Sell all thou hast and give it to the poor ; ' 
 Take all they have and give it to thyself ! 
 Then after we have eased them of their coins 
 It is our forest custom they should revel 
 Along with Robin. 
 
 Marian. 
 And if a woman pass 
 
 ROBEN. 
 
 Dear, in these days of Norman license, when 
 Our English maidens are their prey, if ever 
 A Norman damsel fell into our hands. 
 In this dark wood when all was in our power 
 We never wrong'd a woman.
 
 36o THE FORESTERS act iii 
 
 Marian. 
 
 Noble Robin. 
 
 Little John {coming forward). 
 
 Here come three beggars. 
 
 Enter the three Beggars. 
 
 Little John. 
 Toll! 
 
 First Beggar. 
 
 Eh ! we be beggars, we come to ask o' you. We 
 ha' nothing. 
 
 Second Beggar. 
 Rags, nothing but our rags. 
 
 Third Beggar. 
 
 I have but one penny in pouch, and so you would 
 make it two I should be grateful. 
 
 Marian. 
 
 Beggars, you are sturdy rogues that should be set 
 to work. You are those that tramp the country, filch 
 the linen from the hawthorn, poison the house-dog.
 
 SCENE I 
 
 THE FORESTERS 361 
 
 and scare lonely maidens at the farmstead. Search 
 
 them, Little John. 
 
 Little John. 
 
 These two have forty gold marks between them, 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Cast them into our treasury, the beggars' mites. 
 Part shall go to the almshouses at Nottingham, part 
 to the shrine of our Lady. Search this other. 
 
 Little John. 
 He hath, as he said, but one penny. 
 
 Robin. 
 Leave it with him and add a gold mark thereto. 
 He hath spoken truth in a world of lies. 
 
 Third Beggar. 
 I thank you, my lord. 
 
 Little John. 
 A fine, a fine ! he hath called plain Robin a lord. 
 How much for a beggar ? 
 
 Robin. 
 Take his penny and leave him his gold mark.
 
 362 THE FORESTERS ACT iii 
 
 Little John. 
 Sit there, knaves, till the captain call for you. 
 
 \_They pass behmd the trunk of an oak on the right. 
 
 Marian. 
 Art thou not hard upon them, my good Robin ? 
 
 Robin. 
 
 They might be harder upon thee, if met in a black 
 lane at midnight : the throat might gape before the 
 tongue could cry who ? 
 
 Little John. 
 Here comes a citizen, and I think his wife. 
 
 Enter Citizen and Wife. 
 
 Citizen. 
 That business which we have in Nottingham 
 
 Little John. 
 Halt! 
 
 Citizen. 
 
 O dear ^vife, we have fallen into the hands 
 Of Robin Hood.
 
 SCENE I THE FORESTERS 363 
 
 Marlon. 
 
 And Robin Hood hath sworn — 
 Shame on thee, Little John, thou hast forgotten — 
 That by the blessed Mother no man, so 
 His own true wife came with him, should be stay'd 
 From passing onward. Fare you well, fair lady ! 
 
 [Bowing to her. 
 
 Robin. 
 And may your business thrive in Nottingham ! 
 
 Citizen. 
 
 I thank you, noble sir, the very blossom 
 
 Of bandits. Courtesy to him, wife, and thank him. 
 
 Wife. 
 I thank you, noble sir, and will pray for you 
 IhdXyou may thrive, but in some kindlier trade. 
 
 Citizen. 
 Away, away, wife, wilt thou anger him? 
 
 \_Exeu7it Citizen and his Wife- 
 Little John. 
 Here come three friars.
 
 364 THE FORESTERS act ill 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Marian, thou and thy woman {looking round'), 
 Why, where is Kate ? 
 
 Marian {calling). 
 Kate ! 
 
 Kate. 
 Here! 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Thou and thy woman are a match for three 
 friars. Take thou my bow and arrow and compel 
 them to pay toll. 
 
 Marian. 
 Toll ! 
 
 Enter three Friars. 
 
 First Frla.r {advancing). 
 
 Behold a pretty Dian of the wood, 
 
 Prettier than that same widow which you wot of. 
 
 Ha, brother. Toll, my dear ? the toll of love. 
 
 Marian {drawing bow) . 
 Back ! how much money hast thou in thy purse ? 
 
 First Friar. 
 
 Thou art playing with us. How should poor friars 
 have money?
 
 SCENE I THE FORESTERS 365 
 
 Marian. 
 How much ? how much ? Speak, or the arrow flies. 
 
 First Friar. 
 How much ? well, now I bethink me, I have one 
 mark in gold which a pious son of the Church gave 
 me this morning on my setting forth. 
 
 Marian {bending bow at the second). 
 And thou ? 
 
 Second Friar. 
 Well, as he said, one mark in gold. 
 
 Marian {bending bow at the third). 
 And thou ? 
 
 Third Friar. 
 One mark in gold. 
 
 Marian. 
 Search them, Kate, and see if they have spoken 
 truth. 
 
 Kate. 
 
 They are all mark'd men. They have told but a 
 tenth of the truth : they have each ten marks in gold.
 
 366 THE FORESTERS act hi 
 
 Marian. 
 
 Leave them each what they say is theits, and take 
 the twenty-seven marks to the captain's treasury. 
 Sit there till you be called for. 
 
 First Friar. 
 We have fall'n into the hands of Robin Hood. 
 
 [Marian and Kate return to Robin. 
 [ 77^1? Friars pass behind an oak on the left. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Honour to thee, brave Marian, and thy Kate. 
 
 I know them arrant knaves in Nottingham. 
 
 One half of this shall go to those they have wrong'd, 
 
 One half shall pass into our treasury. 
 
 Where lies that cask of wine whereof we plunder'd 
 
 The Norman prelate ? 
 
 Little John. 
 
 In that oak, where twelve 
 Can stand upright, nor touch each other. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Good ! 
 
 Roll it in here. These friars, thieves, and liars, 
 
 Shall drink the health of our new woodland Queen.
 
 SCENE I THE FORESTERS 367 
 
 And they shall pledge thee, Marian, loud enough 
 To fright the wild swan passing overhead, 
 The mouldwarp underfoot. 
 
 Marian. 
 
 They pledge me, Robin ? 
 The silent blessing of one honest man 
 Is heard in heaven — the wassail yells of thief 
 And rogue and liar echo down in Hell, 
 And wake the Devil, and I may sicken by 'em. 
 Well, well, be it so, thou strongest thief of all, 
 For thou hast stolen my will, and made it thine. 
 
 Friar Tuck, Little John, Much, 
 and Scarlet roll in cask. 
 
 Frl^r Tuck. 
 I marvel is it sack or Malvoisie ? 
 
 RoBEsr. 
 Do me the service to tap it, and thou wilt know. 
 
 Friar Tuck. 
 I would tap myself in thy service, Robin. 
 
 Robin. 
 And thou wouldst run more wine than blood.
 
 368 THE FORESTERS act hi 
 
 Friar Tuck. 
 And both at thy service, Robin. 
 
 RoBEsr. 
 
 I believe thee, thou art a good fellow, though a 
 friar. \They pour the ivine into cups.. 
 
 Friar Tuck. 
 Fill to the brim. Our Robin, King o' the woods, 
 Wherever the horn sound, and the buck bound, 
 Robin, the people's friend, the King o' the woods. 
 
 \They dri?ik. 
 Robin. 
 To the brim and over till the green earth drink 
 Her health along with us in this rich draught, 
 And answer it in flowers. The Queen o' the woods, 
 Wherever the buck bound, and the horn sound, 
 Maid Marian, Queen o' the woods ! \_They drink. 
 
 Here, you three rogues, 
 [7<7 the Beggars. Tfiey come out. 
 You caught a lonely woodman of our band. 
 And bruised him almost to the death, and took 
 His monies. 
 
 Third Beggar. 
 
 Captain, nay, it wasn't me.
 
 SCENE I THE FORESTERS 369 
 
 Robin. 
 
 You ought to dangle up there among the crows. 
 Drink to the health of our new Queen o' the woods, 
 Or else be bound and beaten. 
 
 First Beggar. 
 
 Sir, sir — well, 
 We drink the health of thy new Queen o' the woods. 
 
 Robin. 
 Louder ! louder ! Maid Marian, Queen o' the woods ! 
 
 Beggars {shouting). 
 Maid Marian, Queen o' the woods : Queen o' the 
 woods. 
 
 First and Second Beggars {aside) . 
 
 The black fiend grip her ! 
 
 \They drink. 
 
 Robin {to the Friars). 
 
 And you three holy men, 
 \They come out. 
 You worshippers of the Virgin, one of you 
 Shamed a too trustful widow whom you heard 
 In her confession ; and another — worse ! — 
 An innocent maid. Drink to the Queen o' the woods, 
 Or else be bound and beaten. 
 
 VOL. VI. 2 B
 
 370 THE FORESTERS act hi 
 
 First Friar. 
 
 Robin Hood, 
 These be the Ues the people tell of us, 
 Because we seek to curb their viciousness. 
 However — to this maid, this Queen o' the woods. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Louder, louder, ye knaves. Maid Marian ! 
 Queen o' the woods ! 
 
 Friars {shouiing). 
 Maid Marian, Queen o' the woods. 
 
 Maid ? 
 
 First Friar {aside). 
 
 Second Friar {aside). 
 Paramour ! 
 
 Third Friar {aside). 
 Hell take her ! 
 
 \_They drink. 
 
 Friar Tuck. 
 
 Robin, will you not hear one of these beggars' 
 catches ? They can do it. I have heard 'em in the 
 market at Mansfield.
 
 SCENE I THE FORESTERS 371 
 
 Little John. 
 No, my lord, hear ours — Robin — I crave pardon, 
 I always think of you as my lord, but I may still say 
 my lady ; and, my lady, Kate and I have fallen out 
 again, and I pray you to come between us again, for, 
 my lady, we have made a song in your honour, so 
 your ladyship care to listen. 
 
 Robin. 
 Sing, and by St. Mary these beggars and these 
 friars shall join you. Play the air, Little John. 
 
 Little John. 
 Air and word, my lady, are maid and man. Join 
 them and they are a true marriage ; and so, I pray 
 you, my lady, come between me and my Kate and 
 make us one again. Scarlet, begin. 
 
 \JPlayi71g the air on his viol. 
 
 Scarlet. 
 By all the deer that spring 
 Thro' wood and lawn and ling, 
 
 When all the leaves are green; 
 By arrow and gray goo sewing., 
 When horn and echo ring, 
 We care so mt/ch for a King; 
 
 We care not much for a Queen — 
 For a Queen, for a Queen <?' the woods.
 
 372 THE FORESTERS act hi 
 
 Marian. 
 Do you call that in my honour? 
 
 Scarlet. 
 
 Bitters before dinner, my lady, to give you a rehsh. 
 The first part — made before you came among us — 
 they put it upon me because I have a bad wife. I 
 love you all the same. Proceed. \_All the rest sing. 
 
 By all the leaves of spring, 
 And all the birds that sing 
 
 When all the leaves are green ; 
 By arrow and by bowstring, 
 We care so tnuch for a King 
 
 That we would die for a Queen — 
 For a Queen, for a Queen o' the woods. 
 
 Enter Forester. 
 Forester. 
 Black news, black news from Nottingham ! I grieve 
 I am the Raven who croaks it. My lord John, 
 In wrath because you drove him from the forest. 
 Is coming with a swarm of mercenaries 
 To break our band and scatter us to the winds. 
 
 Marian. 
 
 O Robin, Robin ! See that men be set 
 Along the glades and passes of the wood
 
 SCENE I THE FORESTERS 373 
 
 To warn us of his coming ! then each man 
 That owns a wife or daughter, let him bury her 
 Even in the bowels of the earth to scape 
 The glance of John 
 
 Robin. 
 You hear your Queen, obey ! 
 
 END OF ACT UI
 
 ACT IV 
 
 THE CONCLUSION
 
 ACT IV 
 
 Scene. — A forest bower, cavern in background. 
 Sunrise. 
 
 Marian {j-isingto meet Robing. 
 
 Robin, the sweet light of a mother's eye, 
 That beam of dawn upon the opening flcwer. 
 Has never glanced upon me when a child. 
 He was my father, mother, both in one. 
 The love that children owe to both I give 
 To him alone. 
 
 (Robin offers to caress her.) 
 
 Marian. 
 
 Quiet, good Robin, quiet ! 
 
 You lovers are such clumsy summer-flies 
 
 For ever buzzing at your lady's face. 
 
 Robin. 
 Bees rather, flying to the flower for honey. 
 
 377
 
 378 THE FORESTERS act iv 
 
 Marian {sings). 
 
 The bee buzz'd up in the heat. 
 * / am faint for your honey, my sweet. ^ 
 The flower said ' Take it, my dear. 
 For now is the spring of the year. 
 So come, come! ' 
 ' Hum ! ' 
 And the bee buzzed down from the heat. 
 
 And the bee buzzed up in the cold 
 When the flower was withered and old. 
 ^ Have you still any honey, my dear?^ 
 She said ^Ws the fall of the year. 
 But come, come / ' 
 'Hum I ' 
 And the bee buzzed off in the cold. 
 
 . Robin. 
 Out on thy song ! 
 
 Marian. 
 Did I not sing it in tune ? 
 
 Robin. 
 No, sweetheart ! out of tune with Love and me. 
 
 Marian. 
 And yet in tune with Nature and the bees.
 
 SCENE I THE FORESTERS 379 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Out on it, I say, as out of tune and time ! 
 
 Marian. 
 
 Till thou thyself shalt come to sing it — in time. 
 
 Robin {taking a tress of her hair in his hand). 
 
 Time ! if his backward-working alchemy 
 Should change this gold to silver, why, the silver 
 Were dear as gold, the wrinkle as the dimple. 
 Thy bee should buzz about the Court of John. 
 No ribald John is Love, no wanton Prince, 
 The ruler of an hour, but lawful King, 
 Whose writ will run thro' all the range of life. 
 Out upon all hard-hearted maidenhood ! 
 
 Marian. 
 
 And out upon all simple batchelors ! 
 
 Ah, well ! thou seest the land has come between us, 
 
 And my sick father here has come between us, 
 
 And this rich Sheriff too has come between us ; 
 
 So, is it not all over now between us ? 
 
 Gone, Uke a deer that hath escaped thine arrow I 
 
 RoBEsr. 
 
 What deer when I have mark'd him ever yet 
 Escaped mine arrow? over is it? wilt thou 
 Give me thy hand on that ?
 
 38o THE FORESTERS ACi iv 
 
 Marian. 
 
 Take it. 
 
 Robin {kisses her hand) . 
 
 The Sheriff ! 
 This ring cries out against thee. Say it again, 
 And by this ring the lips that never breathed 
 Love's falsehood to true maid will seal Love's truth 
 On those sweet lips that dare to dally with it. 
 
 Marian. 
 Quiet, quiet ! or I will to my father. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 So, then, thy father will not grace our feast 
 With his white beard to-day. 
 
 Marian. 
 
 Being so sick 
 How should he, Robin ? 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Then that bond he hath 
 Of the Abbot — wilt thou ask him for it ? 
 
 Marian. 
 
 Why?
 
 SCENE I THE FORESTERS 381 
 
 Robin. 
 
 I have sent to the Abbot and justiciary 
 To bring their counter- bond into the forest. 
 
 Marian. 
 But will they come ? 
 
 Robin. 
 
 If not I have let them know 
 Their lives unsafe in any of these our woods, 
 And in the winter I will fire their farms. 
 But I have sworn by our Lady if they come 
 I will not tear the bond, but see fair play 
 Betwixt them and Sir Richard — promised too, 
 So that they deal with us like honest men, 
 They shall be handled with all courteousness. 
 
 Marian. 
 What wilt thou do with the bond then? 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Wait and see. 
 
 What wilt thou do with the Sheriff? 
 
 Marian. 
 
 Wait and see, 
 
 I bring the bond. \_Exit Marian.
 
 382 THE FORESTERS act iv 
 
 Enter Little John, Friar Tuck, and Much, and 
 Foresters and Peasants laugJmig and talking. 
 
 ROBDJ'. 
 
 Have you glanced down thro' all the forest ways 
 And mark'd if those two knaves from York be 
 coming ? 
 
 Little John. 
 Not yet, but here comes one of bigger mould. 
 
 Enter King Richard. 
 Art thou a knight ? 
 
 King Richard. 
 I am. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 And walkest here 
 Unarmour'd? all these walks are Robin Hood's 
 And sometimes perilous. 
 
 King Richard. 
 
 Good ! but having lived 
 For twenty days and nights in mail, at last 
 I crawl'd like a sick crab from my old shell. 
 That I might breathe for a moment free of shield 
 And cuirass in this forest where I dream'd
 
 SCENE I THE FORESTERS 383 
 
 That all was peace — not even a Robin Hood — 
 {Aside) What if these knaves should know me for 
 their King? 
 
 Robin. 
 Art thou for Richard, or aUied to John? 
 
 King Richard. 
 I am alhed to John. 
 
 Robin. 
 The worse for thee. 
 
 King Richard. 
 
 Art thou that banish'd lord of Huntingdon, 
 The chief of these outlaws who break the law ? 
 
 Robin. 
 I am the yeoman, plain Robin Hood, and being 
 out of the law how should we break the law? if we 
 broke into it again we should break the law, and then 
 we were no longer outlaws. 
 
 King Richard. 
 But, Earl, if thou be he 
 
 Friar Tuck. 
 
 Fine him ! fine him ! he hath called plain Robin 
 an earl. How much is it, Robin, for a knight ?
 
 3^4 THE FORESTERS act iv 
 
 Robin. 
 A mark. 
 
 King Richard {gives if). 
 There. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Thou payest easily, like a good fellow, 
 
 But being o' John's side we must have thy gold. 
 
 King Richard. 
 But I am more for Richard than for John. 
 
 Robin. 
 What, what, a truckler ! a word-eating coward ! 
 Nay, search him then. How much hast thou about 
 thee? 
 
 King Richard. 
 I had one mark. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 What more? 
 
 King Richard. 
 
 No more, I think. 
 But how then if I will not bide to be search'd ? 
 
 Robin. 
 We are four to one.
 
 SCENE I THE FORESTERS 385 
 
 Kjng Richard. 
 
 And I might deal with four. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Good, good, I love thee for that ! but if I wind 
 This forest-horn of mine I can bring down 
 Fourscore tall fellows on thee. 
 
 King Richard. 
 
 Search me then. 
 I should be hard beset with thy fourscore. 
 
 Little John {searching Ya^g Richard). 
 Robin, he hath no more. He hath spoken truth. 
 
 Robin. 
 I am glad of it. Give him back his gold again. 
 
 King Richard. 
 But I had liefer than this gold again — 
 Not having broken fast the livelong day — 
 Something to eat. 
 
 RORIN. 
 
 And thou shalt have it, man. 
 Our feast is yonder, spread beneath an oak, 
 
 VOL. VI. 2 C
 
 386 THE FORESTERS act iv 
 
 Venison, and wild boar, wild goose, besides 
 Hedge-pigs, a savoury viand, so thou be 
 Squeamish at eating the King's venison. 
 
 King Richard. 
 Nay, Robin, I am like thyself in that 
 I look on the King's venison as my own. 
 
 Friar Tuck. 
 Ay, ay, Robin, but let him know our forest laws : 
 he that pays not for his dinner must fight tor it. In 
 the sweat of thy brow, says Holy ^^^rit, shalt thou 
 eat bread, but in the sweat of thy brow and thy breast, 
 and thine arms, and thy legs, and thy heart, and thy 
 liver, and in the fear of thy life shalt thou eat the 
 King's venison — ay, and so thou fight at quarterstafF 
 for thy dinner with our Robin, that will give thee a 
 new zest for it, though thou wert like a bottle full up 
 to the cork, or as hollow as a kex, or the shambles- 
 oak, or a weasel-sucked egg, or the head of a fool, or 
 the heart of Prince John, or any other symbol of 
 vacuity. 
 
 \^They bring out the quarterstaffs, and the foresters 
 
 and peasants erowd round to see the games, and 
 
 applaud at intervals. 
 
 King Richard. 
 Great woodland king, I know not quarterstaff.
 
 SCENE I THE FORESTERS 387 
 
 Little John. 
 
 A fine ! a fine ! He hath called plain Robin a 
 
 king. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 A shadow, a poetical fiction — did ye not call me 
 king in your song ? — a mere figure. Let it go by. 
 
 Frmr Tuck. 
 
 No figure, no fiction, Robin. What, is not man 
 a hunting animal? And look you now, if we kill a 
 stag, our dogs have their paws cut off, and the hunters, 
 if caught, are blinded, or worse than blinded. Is 
 that to be a king? If the king and the law work 
 injustice, is not he that goes against the king and the 
 law the true king in the sight of the King of kings ? 
 Thou art the king of the forest, and I would thou 
 wert the king of the land. 
 
 King Richard. ' 
 
 This friar is of much boldness, noble captain. 
 
 Robin. 
 He hath got it from the bottle, noble knight. 
 
 Friar Tuck. 
 
 Boldness out of the bottle ! I defy thee. 
 Boldness is in the blood, Truth in the bottle.
 
 388 THE FORESTERS act iv 
 
 She lay so long at the bottom of her well 
 
 In the cold water that she lost her voice, 
 
 And so she glided up into the heart 
 
 O' the bottle, the warm wine, and found it again. 
 
 In vino Veritas. Shall I undertake 
 
 The knight at quarterstaff, or thou ? 
 
 Robin. 
 Peace, magpie ! 
 
 Give him the quarterstaff. Nay, but thyself 
 Shalt play a bout with me, that he may see 
 The fashion of it. 
 
 {^Plays 2vith Little John at quarterstaff. 
 
 King Richard. 
 
 Well, then, let me try. \TJiey play. 
 I yield, I yield. I know no quarterstaff. 
 
 Robin. 
 Then thou shalt play the game of buffets with us. 
 
 King Richard. 
 What's that? 
 
 Robin. 
 I stand up here, thou there. I give thee 
 A buffet, and thou me. The Holy Virgin
 
 SCENE I THE FORESTERS 389 
 
 Stand by the strongest. I am overbreathed, 
 Friar, by my two bouts at quarterstaff. 
 Take him and try him, friar. 
 
 Friar Tuck. 
 There ! {Strikes. 
 
 King Richard {strikes). 
 There ! [Ykikr falls, 
 
 Frmr Tuck. 
 
 There ! 
 Thou hast roll'd over the Church miUtant 
 Like a tod of wool from wagon into warehouse. 
 Nay, I defy thee still. Try me an hour hence. 
 I am misty with my thimbleful of ale. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Thou seest, Sir Knight, our friar is so holy 
 
 That he's a miracle-monger, and can make 
 
 Five quarts pass into a thimble. Up, good Much. 
 
 Frur Tuck. 
 And show thyself more of a man than me. 
 
 Much. 
 Well, no man yet has ever bowl'd me down.
 
 390 THE FORESTERS act iv 
 
 Scarlet. 
 Ay, for old Much is every inch a man. 
 
 Robin. 
 We should be all the more beholden to him. 
 
 Much. 
 Much and more ! much and more ! I am the 
 oldest of thy men, and thou and thy youngsters are 
 always muching and moreing me. 
 
 RoBEsr. 
 
 Because thou art always so much more of a man 
 than my youngsters, old Much. 
 
 Much. 
 Well, we Muches be old. 
 
 Robin. 
 Old as the hills. 
 
 Much. 
 
 Old as the mill. We had it i' the Red King's 
 
 time, and so I may be more of a man than to be 
 
 bowled over like a ninepin. There ! \Strikes. 
 
 King Richard. 
 There ! [Much falls.
 
 SCENE I THE FORESTERS 391 
 
 ROBESr. 
 ' Much would have more,' says the proverb ; but 
 Much hath had more than enough. Give me thy 
 hand, ]Sluch ; I love thee {lifts him up) . At him, 
 Scarlet 1 
 
 Scarlet. 
 
 I cannot cope with him : my wrist is strain'd. 
 
 King Richard. 
 Try, thyself, valorous Robin ! 
 
 Robin. 
 
 I am mortally afear'd o' thee, thou big man, 
 But seeing valour is one against all odds, 
 There ! 
 
 King Richard. 
 
 There ! [Robin /a//s back, and is caught in 
 
 the anns of Little John. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Good, now I love thee mightil)', thou tall fellow. 
 Break thine alliance with this faithless John, 
 And live with us and the birds in the green wood. 
 
 King Richard. 
 
 I cannot break it, Robin, if I wish'd. 
 Still i am more for Richard than for John.
 
 392 THE FORESTERS act iv 
 
 Little John. 
 Look, Robin, at the far end of the glade 
 I see two figures crawling up the hill. 
 
 \_Distant sound of tnnnpets. 
 
 Robin. 
 The Abbot of York and his justiciary. 
 
 King Richard {aside). 
 They know me. I must not as yet be known. 
 Friends, your free sports have swallow'd my free 
 
 hour. 
 Farewell at once, for I must hence upon 
 The King's affair. 
 
 Robin. 
 Not taste his venison first ? 
 
 Friar Tuck. 
 Hast thou not fought for it, and earn'd it? Stay, 
 Dine with my brethren here, and on thine own. 
 
 King Richard. 
 And which be they? 
 
 Frur Tuck. 
 Wild geese, for how canst thou be thus allied 
 With John, and serve King Richard save thou be
 
 SCENE I THE FORESTERS 
 
 393 
 
 A traitor or a goose ? but stay with Robin ; 
 
 For Robin is no scatterbrains like Richard, 
 
 Robin's a wise man, Richard a wiseacre, 
 
 Robin's an outlaw, but he helps the poor. 
 
 While Richard hath outlaw'd himself, and helps 
 
 Nor rich, nor poor. Richard's the king of courtesy, 
 
 For if he did me the good grace to kick me 
 
 I could but sneak and smile and call it courtesy, 
 
 For he's a king. 
 
 And that is only courtesy by courtesy — 
 
 But Robin is a thief of courtesy 
 
 Whom they that suffer by him call the blossom 
 
 Of bandits. There — to be a thief of courtesy — 
 
 There is a trade of genius, there's glory ! 
 
 Again, this Richard sacks and wastes a town 
 
 With random pillage, but our Robin takes 
 
 From whom he knows are hypocrites and liars. 
 
 Again this Richard risks his life for a straw. 
 
 So lies in prison — while our Robin's hfe 
 
 Hangs by a thread, but he is a free man. 
 
 Richard, again, is king over a realm 
 
 He hardly knows, and Robin king of Sherwood, 
 
 And loves and doats on every dingle of it. 
 
 Again this Richard is the lion of Cyprus, 
 
 Robin, the lion of Sherwood — may this mouth 
 
 Never suck grape again, if our true Robin 
 
 Be not the nobler lion of the twain.
 
 394 THE FORESTERS act iv 
 
 King Richard. 
 Gramercy for thy preachment ! if the land 
 Were ruleable by tongue, thou shouldst be king. 
 And yet thou know'st how little of thy king ! 
 What was this realm of England, all the crowns 
 Of all this world, to Richard when he flung 
 His life, heart, soul into those holy wars 
 That sought to free the tomb-place of the King 
 Of all the world ? thou, that art churchman too 
 In a fashion, and shouldst feel with him. Farewell ! 
 I left mine horse and armour with a Squire, 
 And I must see to 'em. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 When wilt thou return? 
 
 King Richard. 
 Return, I? when? when Richard will return. 
 
 Robin. 
 No sooner? when will that be? canst thou tell? 
 But I have ta'en a sudden fancy to thee. 
 Accept this horn ! if e'er thou be assail'd 
 In any of our forests, blow upon it 
 Three mots, this fashion— listen ! {blows) Canst thou 
 do it ? [King Richard blows. 
 
 Blown like a true son of the woods. Farewell ! 
 
 \Exit King Richard.
 
 SCENE I THE FORESTERS 
 
 395 
 
 Enter Abbot and Justiciary. 
 
 Friar Tuck. 
 Church and Law, halt and pay toll ! 
 
 Justiciary. 
 
 Rogue, we have thy captain's safe-conduct ; though 
 he be the chief of rogues, he hath never broken his 
 word. 
 
 Abbot. 
 
 There is our bond. 
 
 [ Gives it to Robin. 
 RoBEsr. 
 
 I thank thee. 
 
 Justiciary. 
 
 Ay, but where, 
 Where is this old Sir Richard of the Lea? 
 Thou told'st us we should meet him in the forest. 
 Where he would pay us down his thousand marks. 
 
 Robin. 
 Give him another month, and he will pay it. 
 
 Justiciary. 
 We cannot give a month.
 
 396 THE FORESTERS act iv 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Why then a week. 
 
 Justiciary. 
 No, not an hour : the debt is due to-day. 
 
 Abbot. 
 Where is this laggard Richard of the Lea? 
 
 Robin. 
 He hath been hurt, was growing whole again, 
 Only this morning in his agony 
 Lest he should fail to pay these thousand marks 
 He is stricken with a slight paralysis. 
 Have you no pity ? must you see the man ? 
 
 Justiciary. 
 Ay, ay, what else ? how else can this be settled ? 
 
 Robin. 
 Go men, and fetch him hither on the litter. 
 
 [Sir Richard Lea is brought in. 
 Marian comes with him. 
 
 Marian. 
 Here is my father's bond. [ Gives it to Robin Hood. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 I thank thee, dear.
 
 SCENE I THE FORESTERS 397 
 
 Justiciary. 
 
 Sir Richard, it was agreed when you borrowed 
 these monies from the Abbot that if they were not 
 repaid within a hmited time your land should be 
 forfeit. 
 
 Sir Richard. 
 The land ! the land. 
 
 Marian. 
 
 You see he is past himself. 
 What would you more ? 
 
 Abbot. 
 
 What more ? one thousand marks, 
 Or else the land. 
 You hide this damsel in your forest here, 
 
 \JPoinfing to Marian. 
 You hope to hold and keep her for yourself, 
 You heed not how you soil her maiden fame, 
 You scheme against her father's weal and hers, 
 For so this maid would wed our brother, he 
 Would pay us all the debt at once, and thus 
 This old Sir Richard might redeem his land. 
 He is all for love, he cares not for the land.
 
 398 THE FORESTERS act i\ 
 
 Sir Richard. 
 The land, the land ! 
 
 Robin {giving two bags to the Abbot) . 
 
 Here be one thousand marks 
 Out of our treasury to redeem the land. 
 
 \_Pointing to each of the bags. 
 Half here, half there. \_Plaudits from his band. 
 
 JUSTICURY. 
 
 Ay, ay, but there is use, four hundred marks. 
 
 Robin {giving a bag to Justiciary) . 
 There then, four hundred marks. \_Plaudits. 
 
 Justiciary. 
 
 What did I say ? 
 Nay, my tongue tript — five hundred marks for use. 
 
 Robin {giving another bag to him). 
 
 A hundred more ? There then, a hundred more. 
 
 \_Plaudits. 
 Justiciary. 
 
 Ay, ay, but you see the bond and the letter of the 
 law. It is stated there that these monies should be 
 paid in to the Abbot at York, at the end of the 
 month at noon, and they are delivered here in the 
 wild wood an hour after noon.
 
 SCENE I THE FORESTERS 399 
 
 Marian. 
 The letter — O how often justice drowns 
 Between the law and letter of the law ! 
 O God, I would the letter of the law 
 Were some strong fellow here in the wild wood. 
 That thou might'st beat him down at quarterstaff ! 
 Have you no pity? 
 
 Justiciary. 
 
 You run down your game, 
 We ours. What pity have you for your game? 
 
 Robin. 
 
 We needs must live. Our bowmen are so true 
 They strike the deer at once to death — he falls 
 And knows no more. 
 
 Marian. 
 Pity, pity ! — There was a man of ours 
 Up in the north, a goodly fellow too, 
 He met a stag there on so narrow a ledge — 
 A precipice above, and one below — 
 There was no room to advance or to retire. 
 The man lay down — the delicate-footed creature 
 Came stepping o'er him, so as not to harm him — 
 The hunter's passion flash'd into the man. 
 He drove his knife into the heart of the deer, 
 The deer fell dead to the bottom, and the man
 
 400 THE FORESTERS act iv 
 
 Fell with him, and was crippled ever after. 
 I fear I had small pity for that man. — 
 You have the monies and the use of them. 
 What would you more ? 
 
 Justiciary. 
 What ? must we dance attendance all the day ? 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Dance ! ay, by all the saints and all the devils ye 
 shall dance. When the Church and the law have 
 forgotten God's music, they shall dance to the music 
 of the wild wood. Let the birds sing, and do you 
 dance to their song. What, you will not? Strike 
 up our music, Little John. (^He plays.) They will 
 not ! Prick 'em in the calves with the arrow-points — 
 prick 'em in the calves. 
 
 Abbot. 
 Rogue, I am full of gout. I cannot dance. 
 
 RoBm. 
 And Sir Richard cannot redeem his land. Sweat 
 out your gout, friend, for by my life, you shall dance 
 till he can. Prick him in the calves ! 
 
 Justiciary. 
 Rogue, I have a swollen vein in my right leg, and 
 if thou prick me there I shall die.
 
 SCENE I 
 
 THE FORESTERS 401 
 
 Robin. 
 Prick him where thou wilt, so that he dance. 
 
 Abbot. 
 Rogue, we come not alone. 
 
 Justiciary. 
 Not the right. 
 
 Abbot. 
 We told the Prince and the Sheriff of our coming. 
 
 Justiciary. 
 Take the left leg for the love of God. 
 
 Abbot. 
 They follow us. 
 
 Justiciary. 
 
 You will all of you hang. 
 
 Robin. 
 Let us hang, so thou dance meanwhile ; or by that 
 same love of God we will hang thee, prince or no 
 prince, sheriff or no sheriff. 
 
 VOL. VI. 2D
 
 402 THE FORESTERS act iv 
 
 Justiciary. 
 
 Take care, take care ! I dance — I will dance — I 
 dance. [Abbot and Justiciary da}ice to music, 
 
 each holding a bag in each hand. 
 
 Enter Scarlet. 
 
 Scarlet. 
 The Sheriff! the Sheriff, foUow'd by Prince John 
 And all his mercenaries ! We sighted 'em 
 Only this moment. By St. Nicholas 
 They must have sprung like Ghosts from underground, 
 Or, like the Devils they are, straight up from Hell. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Crouch all into the bush ! 
 
 {The foresters and peasants hide behind the hushes. 
 
 Marun. 
 
 Take up the litter ! 
 
 Sir Richard. 
 Move me no more ! I am sick and faint with pain ! 
 
 Marlon. 
 But, Sir, the Sheriff
 
 SCENE I THE FORESTERS 403 
 
 Sir Richard. 
 
 I,et me be, I say ! 
 The SherilT will be welcome ! let me be ! 
 
 Marian. 
 
 Give me my bow and arrows. I remain 
 Beside my Father's litter. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 And fear not thou ! 
 Each of us has an arrow on the cord ; 
 We all keep watch. 
 
 Enter Sheriff of Nottingham, 
 
 Sheriff. 
 Marian ! 
 
 Marian. 
 
 Speak not. I wait upon a dying father. 
 
 Sheriff. 
 The debt hath not been paid. She will be mine. 
 What are you capering for? By old St. Vitus 
 Have you gone mad? Has it been paid? 
 
 Abbot {dancwg). 
 
 O yes.
 
 404 THE FORESTERS act iv 
 
 Sheriff. 
 Have I lost her then ? 
 
 JUSTICL4RY {dancing). 
 
 Lost her? O no, we took 
 Advantage of the letter— O Lord, the vein ! 
 Not paid at York — the wood — prick me no more ! 
 
 Sheriff. 
 What pricks thee save it be thy conscience, man ? 
 
 Justiciary. 
 
 By my hahdome I felt him at my leg still. Where 
 be they gone to ? 
 
 Sheriff. 
 Thou art alone in the silence of the forest 
 Save for this maiden and thy brother Abbot, 
 And this old crazeling in the litter there. 
 
 Enter on one side Friar Tuck fro?n the bush, atid on 
 the other Prince Johx and his Spearmen, with 
 banners and trumpets, etc. 
 
 Justiciary {exami?iing his leg). 
 They have missed the vein.
 
 SCENE I THE FORESTERS 405 
 
 Abbot. 
 And we shall keep the land. 
 
 Sheriff. 
 
 Sweet Marian, by the letter of the law 
 It seems thy father's land is forfeited. 
 
 Sir Richard. 
 No ! let me out of the litter. He shall wed thee : 
 The land shall still be mine. Child, thou shalt wed 
 
 him, 
 Or thine old father will go mad — he will, 
 He will — he feels it in his head. 
 
 Marian. 
 
 O peace ! 
 Father, I cannot marry till Richard comes. 
 
 Sir Richard. 
 
 And then the Sheriff ! 
 
 Marian. 
 
 Ay, the Sheriff, father, 
 Would buy me for a thousand marks in gold — 
 Sell me again perchance for twice as much. 
 A woman's heart is but a little thing. 
 Much lighter than a thousand marks in gold ;
 
 4o6 THE FORESTERS act iv 
 
 But pity for a father, it may be, 
 
 Is weightier than a thousand marks in gold. 
 
 I cannot love the Sheriff. 
 
 Sir Richard. 
 
 But thou wilt wed him ? 
 
 MarL'IN. 
 Ay, save King Richard, when he comes, forbid me. 
 Sweet heavens, I could wish that all the land 
 Were plunged beneath the waters of the sea, 
 Tho' all the world should go about in boats. 
 
 Friar Tuck. 
 Why, so should all the love-sick be sea-sick. 
 
 Marlan. 
 Better than heart-sick, friar. 
 
 Prince John {to Sheriff). 
 
 See you not 
 They are jesting at us yonder, mocking us? 
 Carry her off, and let the old man die. 
 
 \_Adva7icing to Marian. 
 Come, girl, thou shalt along with us on the instant. 
 
 Friar Tuck {brandishing his staff). 
 Then on the instant I will break thy head.
 
 scene i the foresters 407 
 
 Sheriff. 
 Back, thou fool-friar ! Knowest thou not the Prince ? 
 
 Friar Tuck {muttering). 
 He may be prince ; he is not gentleman. 
 
 Prince John. 
 
 Look ! I will take the rope from off thy waist 
 And twist it round thy neck and hang thee by it. 
 Seize him and truss him up, and carry her off. 
 
 [Frl4R Tuck slips into the dusk. 
 
 Marl4N {drawing the bow). 
 
 No nearer to me ! back ! My hand is firm. 
 Mine eye most true to one hair's-breadth of aim. 
 You, Prince, our king to come — you that dishonour 
 The daughters and the wives of your own faction — 
 Who hunger for the body, not the soul — 
 This gallant Prince would have me of his — what? 
 Household ? or shall I call it by that new term 
 Brought from the sacred East, his harem? Never, 
 Tho' you should queen me over all the realms 
 Held by King Richard, could I stoop so low 
 As mate with one that holds no love is pure, 
 No friendship sacred, values neither man 
 Nor woman save as tools — God help the mark — 
 To his own unprincely ends. And you, you. Sheriff, 
 
 \_Turning to the Sheriff.
 
 4o8 THE FORESTERS act iv 
 
 Who thought to buy your marrying me with gold, 
 
 Marriage is of the soul, not of the body. 
 
 Win me you cannot, murder me you may, 
 
 And all I love, Robin, and all his men. 
 
 For I am one with him and his ; but while 
 
 I breathe Heaven's air, and Heaven looks down on 
 
 me. 
 
 And smiles at my best meanings, I remain 
 
 Mistress of mine own self and mine own soul. 
 
 \_Retreating, with bow drawn, to the bush. 
 
 Robin ! 
 
 Robin. 
 
 I am here, my arrow on the cord. 
 He dies who dares to touch thee. 
 
 Prince John. 
 
 Advance, advance ! 
 What, daunted by a garrulous, arrogant girl ! 
 Seize her and carry her off into my castle. 
 
 Sheriff. 
 Thy castle ! 
 
 Prince John. 
 
 Said I not, I loved thee, man? 
 Risk not the love I bear thee for a girl. 
 
 Sheriff. 
 Thy castle !
 
 SCENE I THE FORESTERS 409 
 
 Prince John. 
 
 See thou thwart me not, thou fool ! 
 When Richard comes he is soft enough to pardon 
 His brother ; but all those that held with him. 
 Except I plead for them, will hang as high 
 As Haman. 
 
 Sheriff. 
 
 She is mine. I have thy promise. 
 
 Prince John. 
 
 O ay, she shall be thine — first mine, then thine, 
 For she shall spend her honeymoon with me. 
 
 Sheriff. 
 Woe to that land shall own thee for her king ! 
 
 Prince John. 
 Advance, advance ! 
 
 \They advance shouting. The King in 
 armour reappeais from the wood. 
 
 King Richard. 
 What shouts are these that ring along the wood ? 
 
 Friar Tuck {^coming forward^. 
 
 Hail, knight, and help us. Here is one would clutch 
 Our pretty Marian for his paramour, 
 This other, willy-nilly, for his bride.
 
 4IO THE FORESTERS act iv 
 
 King Richard. 
 Damsel, is this the truth? 
 
 Marian. 
 
 Ay, noble knight. 
 
 Friar Tuck. 
 Ay, and she will not marry till Richaril come. 
 
 King Richard {raising his vizor) . 
 I am here, and I am he. 
 
 Prince John {lowering his, and whispering to his men) . 
 
 It is not he — his face — tho' very like — 
 
 No, no ! we have certain news he died in prison. 
 
 Make at him, all of you, a traitor coming 
 
 In Richard's name — it is not he — not he. 
 
 \_The men stand amazed. 
 
 Friar Tuck (going back to the bush). 
 Robin, shall we not move ? 
 
 Robin. 
 
 It is the King 
 Who bears all down. Let him alone awhile. 
 He loves the chivalry of his single arm. 
 Wait till he blow the horn.
 
 SCENE I THE FORESTERS 411 
 
 Friar Tuck {commg back). 
 
 If thou be king, 
 Be not a fool ! Why blowest thou not the horn ? 
 
 King Ricila.rd. 
 
 I that have turn'd their Moslem crescent pale — 
 
 I blow the horn against this rascal rout ! 
 
 [Friar Tuck plucks the horn from him and blows. 
 Richard dashes alone against the Sheriff and 
 John's men, and is almost borne dowti, when 
 Robin and his men rush in and j-csciie him. 
 
 King Richard {^to Robin Hood). 
 Thou hast saved my head at the peril of thine own. 
 
 Prince John. 
 
 A horse ! a horse ! I must away at once ; 
 
 I cannot meet his eyes. I go to Nottingham. 
 
 Sheriff, thou wilt find me at Nottingham. \_Exit. 
 
 Sheriff. 
 
 If anywhere, I shall find thee in hell. 
 
 What ! go to slay his brother, and make me 
 
 The monkey that should roast his chestnuts for him ! 
 
 King Richard. 
 I fear to ask who left us even now.
 
 412 THE FORESTERS act iv 
 
 Robin. 
 
 I grieve to say it was thy father's son. 
 Shall I not after him and bring him back? 
 
 King Richard. 
 No, let him be. Sheriff of Nottingham, 
 
 [Sheriff kneels 
 I have been away from England all these years, 
 Heading the holy war against the Moslem, 
 While thou and others in our kingless realms 
 Were fighting underhand unholy wars 
 Against your lawful king. 
 
 Sheriff. 
 
 My liege, Prince John— 
 
 King Richard. 
 Say thou no word against my brother John. 
 
 Sheriff. 
 Why then, my liege, I have no word to say. 
 
 King Richard {to Robin). 
 My good friend Robin, Earl of Huntingdon, 
 For Earl thou art again, hast thou no fetters 
 For those of thine own band who would betray thee ?
 
 SCENE I THE FORESTERS 413 
 
 Robin. 
 
 I have ; but these were never worn as yet. 
 I never found one traitor in my band. 
 
 King Richard. 
 
 Thou art happier than thy king. Put him in chains. 
 
 [^T/ ley fetter the Sheriff. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Look o'er these bonds, my liege. 
 
 [_Shows the King the bo7ids. They talk togethei\ 
 
 King Richard. 
 
 You, my lord Abl^ot, you Justiciary, 
 
 {The Abbot a«^ Justiciary kneel. 
 I made you Abbot, you Justiciar}'^ : 
 You both are utter traitors to your king. 
 
 Justiciary. 
 O my good liege, we did believe you dead. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Was justice dead because the King was dead ? 
 Sir Richard paid his monies to the Abbot. 
 You crost him with a quibble of your law.
 
 414 THE FORESTERS act iv 
 
 King Richard. 
 But on tlie faith and honour of a king 
 The land is his again. 
 
 Sir Richard. 
 
 The land ! the land ! 
 I am crazed no longer, so I have the land. 
 
 [ Comes out of the litter and kneels. 
 God save the King ! 
 
 King Richard {raising Sir Richard^ 
 
 I thank thee, good Sir Richard. 
 Maid Marian. 
 
 Marian. 
 Yes, King Richard. 
 
 King Richard. 
 
 Thou wouldst marry 
 This Sheriff when King Richard came again 
 Except — 
 
 Marian. 
 The King forbad it. True, my liege 
 
 King Richard. 
 How if the King command it?
 
 SCENE I THE FORESTERS 415 
 
 Marian. 
 
 Then, my liege, 
 If you would marry me with a traitor sheriff, 
 I fear I might prove traitor with the sheriff. 
 
 King Richard. 
 
 But .if the King forbid thy marrying 
 
 With Robin, our good Earl of Huntingdon. 
 
 Marian. 
 Then will I live for ever in tlie wild wood. 
 
 Robin {^coming forward). 
 And I with thee. 
 
 King Richard. 
 
 On nuts and acorns, ha ! 
 Or the King's deer? Earl, thou when we were hence 
 Hast broken all our Norman forest-laws, 
 And scruplest not to flaunt it to our face 
 That thou wilt break our forest laws again 
 When we are here. Thou art overbold. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 My king, 
 
 I am but the echo of the lips of love.
 
 41 6 THE FORESTERS act iv 
 
 King Richard. 
 
 Thou hast risk'd thy hfe for mine : bind these two 
 men. 
 \They take the bags from the Abbot ^«^ Justiciary, 
 and proceed to fetter them. 
 
 Justiciary. 
 But will the King, then, judge us all unheard ? 
 I can defend my cause against the traitors 
 Who fain would make me traitor. If the King 
 Condemn us without trial, men will call him 
 An Eastern tyrant, not an English king. 
 
 Abbot, 
 Besides, my liege, these men are outlaws, thieves, 
 They break thy forest laws — nay, by the rood 
 They have done far worse — they plunder — yea, ev'n 
 bishops, 
 
 Yea, ev'n archbishops — if thou side with these, 
 Beware, O King, the vengeance of the Church. 
 
 Friar Tuck {brandishing his staff) . 
 I pray you, ray liege, let me execute the vengeance 
 of the Church upon them. I have a stout crabstick 
 here, which longs to break itself across their backs. 
 
 Robin. 
 Keep silence, bully friar, before the King.
 
 SCENE I THE FORESTERS 417 
 
 Friar Tuck. 
 
 If a cat may look at a king, may not a friar speak 
 to one? 
 
 King Richard. 
 
 I have had a year of prison-silence, Robin, 
 And heed him not — the vengeance of the Church ! 
 Thou shalt pronounce the blessing of the Church 
 On those two here, Robin and Marian. 
 
 Marian. 
 He is but hedge-priest. Sir King. 
 
 King Richard. 
 
 And thou their Queen. 
 Our rebel Abbot then shall join your hands, 
 Or lose all hope of pardon from us — yet 
 Not now, not now — with after-dinner grace. 
 Nay, by the dragon of St. George, we shall 
 Do some injustice, if you hold us here 
 Longer from our own venison. Where is it ? 
 I scent it in the green leaves of the wood. 
 
 Marian. 
 First, king, a boon ! 
 
 King Richard. 
 
 Why surely ye are pardon'd. 
 Even this brawler of harsh truths — I trust 
 
 VOL. \\. 2 E
 
 41 8 THE FORESTERS act iv 
 
 Half truths, good friar : ye shall v/ith us to court. 
 Then, if ye cannot breathe but woodland air, 
 Thou Robin shalt be ranger of this forest, 
 And have thy fees, and break the law no more. 
 
 Marian. 
 It is not that, my lord. 
 
 King Richard. 
 
 Then what, my lady ? 
 
 RCBIX. 
 
 This 13 the gala-day of thy return. 
 
 I pray thee for the moment, strike the bonds 
 
 From these three men, and let them dine with us, 
 
 And lie with us among the flowers, and drink — 
 
 Ay, whether it be gall or honey to 'em — 
 
 The king's good health in ale and Malvoisie, 
 
 King Richard. 
 By Mahound I could strive with Beelzebub ! 
 So now which way to the dinner? 
 
 Marian. 
 
 Past the bank 
 Of foxglove, then to left by that one yew. 
 You see the darkness thro' the lighter leaf. 
 But look ! who comes?
 
 SCENE I THE FORESTERS 4^9 
 
 Enter Sailor. 
 
 Sailor. 
 We heard Sir Richard Lea was here with Robin, 
 O good Sir Richard, I am like the man 
 In Holy Writ, who brought his talent back ; 
 For tho' we touch'd at many pirate ports, 
 We ever fail'd to light upon thy son. 
 Here is thy gold again. I am sorry for it. 
 
 Sir Richard, 
 The gold — my son— my gold, my son, the land — 
 Here Abbot, Sheriff— no— no, Robin Hood. 
 
 Robin. 
 Sir Richard, let that wait till we have dined. 
 Are all our guests here ? 
 
 King Richard. 
 
 No — there's yet one other : 
 I will not dine without him. Come from out 
 
 Enter Walter Lea. 
 
 That oak-tree ! This young warrior broke his prison 
 
 And join'd my banner in the Holy Land, 
 
 And cleft the Moslem turban at my side. 
 
 My masters, welcome gallant Walter Lea. 
 
 Kiss him, Sir Richard — kiss him, my sweet Marian.
 
 420 THE FORESTERS act iv 
 
 Marian. 
 
 O Walter, Walter, is it thou indeed 
 Whose ransom was our ruin, whose return 
 Builds up our house again ? I fear I dream. 
 Here — give me one sharp pinch upon the cheek 
 That I may feel thou art no phantom — yet 
 Thou art tann'd almost beyond my knowing, brother. 
 
 [ They embrace, 
 
 Walter Lea. 
 
 But thou art fair as ever, my sweet sister. 
 
 Art thou my son ? 
 
 Sir Richard. 
 
 Walter Lea. 
 I am, good father, I am. 
 
 Sir Richard. 
 
 I had despair'd of thee — that sent me crazed. 
 Thou art worth thy weight in all those marks of gold, 
 Yea. and the weight of the very land itself, 
 Down to the inmost centre. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Walter Lea,
 
 SCENE I THE FORESTERS 421 
 
 Give me that hand which fought for Richard there. 
 Embrace me, Marian, and thou, good Kate, 
 
 \To Kate entering. 
 Kiss and congratulate me, my good Kate. 
 
 \_She kisses him. 
 
 Little John. 
 
 Lo now ! lo now ! 
 
 I have seen thee clasp and kiss a man indeed, 
 
 For our brave Robin is a man indeed. 
 
 Then by thine own account thou shouldst be mine. 
 
 Kate. 
 Well then, who kisses first? 
 
 Little John. 
 
 Kiss both together. 
 \They kiss each other, 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Then all is well. In this full tide of love, 
 
 Wave heralds wave : thy match shall follow mine {to 
 
 Little John). 
 Would there were more — a hundred lovers more 
 To celebrate this advent of our King ' 
 Our forest games are ended, our free life, 
 And we must hence to the King's court. I trust
 
 422 THE FORESTERS act iv 
 
 We shall return to the wood. Meanwhile, farewell 
 Old friends, old patriarch oaks. A thousand winters 
 Will strip you bare as death, a thousand summers 
 Robe you life-green again. You seem, as it were, 
 Immortal, and we mortal. How few Junes 
 Will heat our pulses quicker ! How few frosts 
 Will chill the hearts that beat for Robin Hood ! 
 
 Marian. 
 
 And yet I think these oaks at dawn and even, 
 
 Or in the balmy breathings of the niglit. 
 
 Will whisper evermore of Robin Hood. 
 
 We leave but happy memories to the forest. 
 
 We dealt in the wild justice of the woods. 
 
 All those poor serfs whom we have served will bless 
 
 us. 
 All those pale mouths which we have fed will praise 
 
 us — 
 All widows we have holpen pray for us. 
 Our Lady's blessed shrines throughout the land 
 Be all the richer for us. You, good friar, 
 You Much, you Scarlet, you dear Little John, 
 Your names will cling like ivy to the wood. 
 And here perhaps a hundred years away 
 Some hunter in day-dreams or half asleep 
 Will hear our arrows whizzing overhead, 
 And catch the winding of a phantom horn.
 
 SCENE I THE FORESTERS 423 
 
 Robin. 
 
 And surely these old oaks will murmur thee 
 Marian along with Robin. I am most happy — 
 Art thou not mine ? — and happy that our King 
 Is here again, never I trust to roam 
 So far again, but dwell among his own. 
 Strike up a stave, my masters, all is well. 
 
 SONG WHILE THEY DANCE A COUNTRY DANCE. 
 
 Nolu the king is home again, and nevermore to 7oavi 
 
 again, 
 No7U the king is home again, the king will have his 
 
 own again. 
 Home again, home again, and each will have his own 
 
 again. 
 All the birds in merry Sherwood sing and sing him 
 
 home again.
 
 APPENDIX AND NOTES 
 
 TO THE 
 
 POETICAL WORKS 
 
 OF 
 
 ALFRED. LORD TENNYSON 
 
 ¥£h3 fork 
 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 1908 
 
 All rights reserved
 
 Copyright, igo8, 
 By the MACMILLAN COMPANY. 
 
 Set up and electrotyped. Published October, 1908. 
 
 KorfaooO yrtBS 
 8. Gushing Co. — Beiwicli & Smith Co. 
 Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
 
 APPENDIX.
 
 UNPUBLISHED SONNET. 
 
 {Written originally as a Preface to "Beckei.") 
 
 Old ghosts whose day was done ere mine began, 
 If earth be seen from your conjectured heaven, 
 Ye know that History is half-dream — ay even 
 The man's Hfe in the letters of the man. 
 There lies the letter, but it is not he 
 As he retires into himself and is : 
 Sender and sent-to go to make up this, 
 Their offspring of this union. And on me 
 Frown not, old ghosts, if I be one of those 
 Who make you utter things you did not say. 
 And mould you all awry and mar your worth ; 
 For whatsoever knows us truly, knows 
 That none can tnily write his single day, 
 And none can write it for him upon earth. 
 
 427
 
 NOTES.
 
 NOTES ON BECKET. 
 
 By the Editor. 
 
 [In 1879 my father printed the first proofs of his 
 tragedy of Becket, which he had begun in December 
 1876. But he considered that the time was not ripe 
 for its publication ; and this therefore was deferred 
 until December 1884. We had visited Canterbury in 
 August 1877, and gone over each separate scene of 
 Becket's martyrdom. "Admirers of Becket," my father 
 notes, " will find that Becket's letters, and the writings 
 of Herbert of Bosham, Fitzstephen, and John of Salis- 
 bury throw great hght on those days. Bishop Lightfoot 
 found out about Rosamund for me." 
 
 The play is so accurate a representation of the 
 personages and of the time, that J. R. Green said that 
 all his researches into the annals of the twelfth century 
 had not given him "so vivid a conception of the 
 character of Henry H. and his court as was embodied 
 in Tennyson's Beckett 
 
 To my father it was interesting to learn the impres- 
 sion made upon Roman Catholics by this work. He 
 first asked the opinion of his neighbour at Freshwater, 
 W. G. Ward. He could not have asked a more candid, 
 
 431
 
 432 BECKET. 
 
 truth-speaking critic than this " most generous of all 
 Ultramontanes," who was deeply versed not only in the 
 spirit and doctrine of his own Church, but also in the 
 modern French and English drama. My father once 
 said of Ward when speaking to a friend of Roman 
 Catholic casuistry : " Well, one of the most truthful 
 men I ever met was a strict Ultramontane : he was 
 grotesquely truthful." They thoroughly understood each 
 other, for Ward was "full of fun and faith." So it came 
 to pass that my father often discussed religion and 
 Roman Catholicism with him in their walks together. 
 He once said to Ward, " You know you would try to 
 get me put in prison if the Pope bid you." Ward 
 replied, " The Pope would never tell me to do anything 
 so foolish." 
 
 It may be imagined that we looked forward with 
 some anxiety to the evening when Ward had promised 
 to be at Farringford to hear Becket. He came, as it 
 afterwards appeared, to listen patiently, though con- 
 vinced " that the whole play would be out of his line." 
 At the end of the play he broke out into enthusiastic 
 praise. " Dear me ! I did not expect to enjoy it at all. 
 It is splendid ! How wonderfully you have brought out 
 the phases of his character as Chancellor and Arch- 
 bishop ! Where did you get it all? " 
 
 Struggle for power under one guise or another has 
 doubtless been among the most fruitful sources of theme 
 for tragedy. During many centuries, as we know, 
 "spiritual power," clothed in earthly panoply, seemed 
 to most men to be the one embodiment of the Divine 
 Power. What struck Ward in my father's play was the
 
 NOTES. 433 
 
 clear and impressive manner in which he had brought 
 out Becket's feeling that in accepting the Archbishopric 
 he had changed masters, that he was not simply 
 advanced to a higher service of the same liege lord, 
 but that he had changed his former lord paramount, 
 whose fiery self-will made havoc of his fine intellect, 
 for one of higher degree ; and had become a power 
 distinct from and it might be antagonistic to the King. 
 Thus Becket says, still loving his old friend : 
 
 The worldly bond between us is dissolved, 
 Not yet the love : can I be under him 
 As Chancellor? as Archbishop over him? 
 
 My father's view of Becket was as follows : Becket 
 was a really great and impulsive man, with a firm sense 
 of duty, and, when he renounced the world, looked 
 upon himself as the head of that Church which was 
 the people's " tower of strength, their bulwark against 
 throne and baronage." This idea so far wrought in his 
 dominant nature as to betray him into many rash acts ; 
 and later he lost himself in the idea. His enthusiasm 
 reached a spiritual ecstasy which carries the historian 
 along with it ; and his humanity and abiding tenderness 
 for the poor, the weak and the unprotected, heighten 
 the impression so much as to make the poet feel 
 passionately the wronged Rosamund's reverential devo- 
 tion for him (most touchingly rendered by Ellen Terry), 
 when she kneels praying over his body in Canterbury 
 Cathedral.^ 
 
 1 In the play Rosamund is the king's wife by a left-handed or mor- 
 ganatic marriage (see Miss Strickland's Lives of Queens of England, 
 vol. i.). 
 
 VOL. VI. 2F
 
 434 BECKET. 
 
 As a stage tragedy (adapted by Irving) Irving has told 
 us that Becket is one of the three most successfiil plays 
 produced by him at the Lyceum, Palgrave has ob- 
 served that Becket has two excellent characteristics of 
 the old Greek drama, that of bringing the four protago- 
 nists prominently throughout before the audience : and 
 that of introducing the crisis of the tragedy in a scene 
 of first-rate comedy. Irving's arrangement has been 
 criticised as too episodical; but the thread of human 
 interest remains strong enough for its purpose, as 
 from first to last it holds the audience in an attitude of 
 rapt attention. Assuredly Irving's interpretation of the 
 many-sided, many-mooded, statesman-soldier-saint was 
 as vivid and as subtle a piece of acting as has been seen 
 in our day. 
 
 He said truly that one of the chief keynotes of the 
 character is to be found in the following lines, which he 
 always gave with an indescribable tenderness, as if 
 looking back to and recalling the daydream of his youth. 
 
 Becket. There was a little fair-hair'd Norman maid, 
 Lived in my mother's house : if Rosamund is 
 The world's rose, as her name imports her — she 
 Was the world's lily. 
 
 John of Salisbury. Ay, and what of her? 
 
 Becket. She died of leprosy. 
 
 John of Salisbury. I know not why 
 
 You call these old things back again, my lord. 
 
 Becket. The drowning man, they say, remembers all 
 The chances of his life, just ere he dies. 
 
 In 1S79 Irving refused the play: but in 1891 he
 
 NOTES. 435 
 
 asked leave to produce it, holding that the taste of the 
 theatre-going public had changed in the interval, and 
 that it was now likely to be a success on the stage. 
 
 He writes to me (1893) : 
 
 We have passed the fiftieth performance of Becket, 
 which is in the heyday of its success. I think that I may, 
 without hereafter being credited with any inferior motive, 
 give again the opinion which I previously expressed to 
 your loved and honoured father. To me Becket is a very 
 noble play, with something of that lofty feeling and that 
 far-reaching influence, which belong to a "passion play." 
 There are in it moments of passion and pathos which are 
 the aim and end of dramatic art, and which, when they 
 exist, atone to an audience for the endurance of long acts. 
 Some of the scenes and passages, especially in the last act, 
 are full of sublime feeling, and are with regard to both 
 their dramatic effectiveness and their poetic beauty as fine 
 as anything in our language. I know that such a play has 
 an ennobling influence on both the audience who see it 
 and the actors who play in it. 
 
 Some of the last lines which my father ever wrote 
 are at the end of the Northampton scene, an anthem- 
 speech written for Irving : 
 
 The voice of the Lord is in the voice of the people. 
 
 The voice of the Lord is on the warring flood, 
 
 And He will lead His people into peace ! 
 
 The voice of the Lord will shake the wilderness, 
 
 The barren wilderness of unbeUef ! 
 
 The voice of the Lord will break the cedar-trees. 
 
 The Kings and Rulers that have closed their ears
 
 436 BECKET. 
 
 Against the Voice, and at their hour of doom 
 
 The voice of the Lord will hush the hounds of Hell 
 
 In everlasting silence. 
 
 Becket was produced at the Lyceum Feb. 6th, 1893, 
 the parts of Becket and Rosamund being played by 
 Irving and Ellen Terry. It had a long run, and was 
 afterwards frequently played in the provinces and 
 America. Irving wrote on the outside of his copy of 
 Becket, "A finer play than King John.'''' The incidental 
 music was written by Sir Charles Stanford. His identifi- 
 cation of Becket with the Gregorian melody " Telluris 
 ingens conditor " is particularly impressive. 
 
 /. 5. (Prologue.) Becket as chess-player. John of 
 Salisbury and Fitzstephen describe him as an 
 accomplished chess-player, a master in hunting 
 and falconry, and other manly exercises. 
 
 /. 9. lines 6, 7. (Prologue.) 
 
 nor my confessor yet. 
 I woidld to God thou wert. 
 
 Archbishop Theobald writes to Becket 
 (John of Salisbury, Ep. 78) : " It sounds in 
 the ears and mouths of people that you and 
 the king are one heart and soul." He helped 
 Henry to improve the state of the country, 
 and to lighten many of the oppressive laws 
 and enactments (Lingard, vol. ii.). 
 
 /. 9. line 15. (Prologue.) A dish- designer. When 
 Becket went to Paris, all the French v/ere 
 astonished at his sumptuous living. One dish
 
 NOTES. 437 
 
 of eels alone was said to have cost loo 
 shillings (Fitzstephen, 197, 8, 9), 
 
 /. 28. (Act I. Sc. i.) Chamber barely furnished. John 
 of Salisbury says, '' Consecratus autem statim 
 veterem exuit hominem, cilicium et monachum 
 induit." 
 
 /. 30. line I. (Act i. Sc. i.) scutage. The acceptance 
 of a money compensation for military service 
 dates from this time ( 1 159). See Freeman's 
 Norman Conquest. 
 
 p. 49. (Act I. Sc. iii.) In this great scene at North- 
 ampton (J. R. Green writes) "his life was 
 said to be in danger, and all urged him to 
 submit. But in the presence of danger the 
 courage of the man rose to its full height. 
 Grasping his archiepiscopal cross he entered 
 the royal court, forbade the nobles to con- 
 demn him, and appealed to the Papal See. 
 Shouts of ' Traitor ! traitor ! ' followed him 
 as he retired. The Primate turned fiercely 
 at the word : ' Were I a knight,' he retorted, 
 ' my sword should answer that foul taunt.' " — 
 Short History of the English People, p. 108. 
 
 /. 52. (Act I. Sc. iii.) "He (Henry H.) wished to put 
 an end to the disgraceful state of things which 
 had arisen, by subjecting clerical offenders 
 against the public peace to the same jurisdic- 
 tion with the criminals, and, with a view to 
 this, he now required that clerks accused of
 
 438 BECKET. 
 
 any outrage should be tried in his own courts ; 
 that, on conviction or confession, they should 
 be degraded by the Church, and that they 
 then should be remanded to the secular offices 
 for the execution of the sentence which had 
 been passed upon them. On the other hand, 
 the Archbishop, although unsupported by his 
 brethren in general, who dreaded a risk of a 
 breach with the State while the Church was 
 divided by a schism, considered himself bound 
 to offer the most strenuous resistance to a 
 proposal which tended to lessen the privileges 
 of the hierarchy ; and on this quarrel the 
 whole of the subsequent history turned." 
 {Becket, by Canon Robertson, pp. 76, 77.) 
 
 /. 60. line 5. (Act i. Sc. iii.) 
 
 False to myself — it is the will of God. 
 
 "It is the Lord's will that I perjure myself" 
 (Foliot, V. 271, 2). 
 
 /. 68. line 13. (Act i. Sc. iii.) 
 
 A zvorldly folloiver of the worldly strong. 
 
 Foliot fasted much, and was famous for his 
 learning, for his subtle trickery, and flattery of 
 persons in high station. When he was plotting 
 against Becket, he is said to have heard " an 
 exceeding terrible voice : 
 
 O Gilberte Foliot 
 Dum resolvis tot et tot, 
 Deus tuus est Ashtaroth." 
 
 (Roger Wendover, ii. 323.)
 
 NOTES. 439 
 
 /. 71. line 9. (Act i. Sc. iii.) Hence, Satan ! See Alan 
 of Tewkesbury, i. 347. 
 
 /. 76. lines 8, 9. (Act i. Sc. iv.) 
 
 But I that threw the mightiest knight of France, 
 Sir Engelram de Trie. 
 
 In 1 159 Becket, in cuirass and helmet, 
 marched at the head of his troops against the 
 County of Toulouse, which had passed to 
 Henry on his marriage with Eleanor, and there 
 he unhorsed in single combat Sir Engelram 
 de Trie. 
 
 /. 77. line 3. (Act i. Sc. iv.) 
 
 Deal gently with the young man Absalom. 
 
 (Fitzstephen, i. 236; Foliot, iii. 280; Roger 
 of Hoveden, 284.) 
 
 /. 81. (Act I. Sc. iv.) For Becket's entertainment of 
 the poor and his washing of their feet see 
 Fitzstephen, 204 ; John of Salisbury, 324 ; 
 Herbert of Bosham, 24. My father regretted 
 the excision of this scene and of his Walter 
 Map scenes from the Acting Edition. 
 
 p. 84. line 13. (Act i. Sc. iv.) / must fly to France 
 to-night. Not long after he landed in France, 
 under the assumed name of Brother Christian, 
 a boy, who was standing by the roadside with 
 a hawk on his wrist, was attracted by the 
 evident pleasure with which the stranger eyed 
 his bird, and cried out, " Here goes the Arch- 
 bishop." At Gravelines the landlord of the
 
 440 BECKET. 
 
 inn where he spent the night had longer time 
 for observation, and recognised him, as 
 Herbert of Bosham says, " by his remarkably 
 tall figure, his high forehead, the stern expres- 
 sion of his beautiful countenance, and, above 
 all, by the exquisite delicacy of his hands" 
 (Hurrell Froude's Remains, vol. iv. p. 91). 
 
 /. 94. hues 2, 3. (Act II. Sc. i.) 
 
 I have sent his folk, 
 His kin, all his belongings overseas. 
 
 Edward Grim of Cambridge writes : " Those 
 of whom God especially styles Himself the 
 Father and Judge — orphans, widows, children 
 altogether innocent, and unknowing of any 
 discord, aged men, women with their Httle 
 ones hanging at their breasts, clerks, and lay 
 folk of whatever age and sex, of the Arch- 
 bishop's kindred, and some of his friends, 
 were seized in the depth of winter, and merci- 
 lessly transported beyond sea, after having 
 been obliged to swear that they would seek 
 him out" (Grim, 1-51). 
 
 /. no. Hne 5. (Act 11. Sc. ii.) Saving God's honour. 
 Becket substituted this phrase in place of 
 " salvo ordine nostro," which had been objected 
 to by Henry. The King would not allow 
 any difference, and burst into uncontrollable 
 fury (John of Salisbury, ii). Becket wrote 
 to the Pope after Montmirail : " We answered 
 ... we were prepared to yield him (the king)
 
 NOTES. 441 
 
 every service, even more than our predecessors 
 had done saving my order ; but that new 
 obligations, unbeknown to the Church, and 
 such as my predecessors were never bound 
 by, ought not to be undertaken by us : first, 
 because it was bad as a precedent ; secondly, 
 because, when in the city of Sens, your 
 Holiness' self absolved me from the observ- 
 ance of these Usages, hateful to God and to 
 the Church, and from the pledge which force 
 and fear had extorted from me in a special 
 manner J and after a grave rebuke, which, by 
 God's grace, shall never pass from my mind, 
 prohibited me from ever again obliging myself 
 to any one on a like cause except saving God's 
 honour and my order. You added too, if 
 you are pleased to recollect, that not even to 
 save his life should a Bishop oblige himself, 
 saving God's honour and his order " (Hurrell 
 Froude's Remains, vol. iv. p. 3S9). 
 
 /. 113. line 16. (Act 11. Sc. ii.) let a stranger spoil his 
 heritage. Cf. Psalm cix. 
 
 p. 115. line 3 ff. (Act 11. Sc. ii.) My father's note is: 
 "The description of Bosham was made as we 
 (my son Hallam and I) saw the little fishing 
 village on a summer's day." 
 
 /. 143. line 4. (Act iii. Sc. iii.) 
 
 The daughter of Zion lies beside the way. 
 Lamentations i-ii.
 
 442 BECKET. 
 
 p. 143. lines 3, 4. (Act in. Sc. iii.) 
 
 The spouse of the Great King, thy king, hath 
 
 fallen — 
 The daughter of Zion lies beside the way. 
 
 See Becket's Ep. i. 63, in Hurrell Froude's 
 Remains, iv. 139. The Archbishop to the 
 King of England : " I entreat you, O my Lord, 
 to bear with me for a while that by the grace 
 of God I may disburden my conscience, to 
 the benefit of my soul. . . . My Lord, the 
 daughter of Zion is held captive in thy 
 kingdom. The spouse of the Great King is 
 oppressed by her enemies, afflicted by those 
 who ought most to honour her, and especially 
 by you." 
 
 See, too, the Archbishop of Canterbury to 
 the Pope (after Fr^teval), Hurrell Froude's 
 Remains, iv. 503 : " God hath looked with an 
 eye of pity on His Church, and changed at 
 length her sorrow into joy. The King of 
 England, as soon as he had received your 
 last letters, and understood that you would 
 no longer spare him, even as you had not 
 spared the Emperor Frederic, but would lay 
 his territories under an Interdict, forthwith 
 made peace with us, to the honour of God, 
 as we would hope, and the great advantage of 
 His Church. The Usages which were once 
 so insisted upon, he did not even allude to. 
 He exacted no oath of us, or any belonging 
 to us. He restored to us the possessions
 
 NOTES. 443 
 
 which we had been deprived of, according to 
 the enumeration of them in our own schedule ; 
 and, with them, peace and security, and a 
 return from our exile to all our companions ; 
 and even promised the kiss, if we wished to 
 press him so far. In short he gave way in 
 everything, insomuch that some called him 
 perjured, who had heard him swear that he 
 would not admit us to the kiss that day." 
 
 /. 144. line 8. (Act iii. Sc. iii.) 
 
 And thou shalt crown my Henry o'er again. 
 Upon this Becket dismounted and prepared 
 to throw himself at Henry's feet, but Henry 
 also dismounted, and embraced the Arch- 
 bishop, and held his stirrup for him in order 
 that he might remount. 
 
 p. 155. (Act IV. Sc. ii.) "That Rosamund was not 
 killed may be ascertained by the charters ..." 
 (see vol. i. p. 213, Miss Strickland's Lives of 
 Queens of England^. 
 
 p. 188. line 17. (Act v. Sc. ii.) uxor paupens Ibyci 
 (Horace, Carm. iii. xv. i). 
 
 /. 191. line 2. (Act. v. Sc. ii.) From ''On a Tuesday 
 was I born " to the end of the play is founded 
 on the graphic accounts by Fitzstephen, and 
 Grim, the monk of Cambridge, who was with 
 Becket in Scenes ii. and iii. 
 
 p. 199. line 12. (Act v. Sc. ii.) \_lVhen God makes up 
 his jewels. Malachi iii. 17. — Ed.]
 
 APPENDIX TO NOTES ON BECKET. 
 
 Letter from The Right Honotirable J. Bryce. 
 
 As I have been abroad for some time it was only a little 
 while ago that I obtained and read your Becket. Will 
 you, since you were so kind as to read me some of it last 
 July, let me tell you how much enjoyment and light it has 
 given me ? Impressive as were the parts read, it impresses 
 one incomparably more when studied as a whole. One 
 cannot imagine a more vivid, a more perfectly faithful 
 picture than it gives both of Henry and of Thomas. Truth 
 in history is naturally truth in poetry; but you have made 
 the characters of the two men shine out in a way which, 
 while it never deviates from the impression history gives of 
 them, goes beyond and perfects history. This is eminently 
 conspicuous in the way their relations to one another are 
 traced ; and in the delineation of the influence on Thomas 
 of the conception of the Church, blending with his own 
 haughty spirit and sanctifying it to his own conscience. 
 There is not, it seems to me, anything in modern poetry 
 which helps us to realise, as your drama does, the sort of 
 power the Church exerted on her ministers : and this is the 
 central fact of the earlier middle ages. I wish you were 
 writing a play on Hildebrand also. Venturing to say this 
 to you from the point of view of a student of history, 
 
 444
 
 NO TES. 445 
 
 I scarcely presume to speak of the drama on its more 
 purely literary side, how full of strength and beauty and 
 delicacy it is, because you must have heard this often already 
 from more competent critics. 
 
 BECKET.i 
 By the late Sir Richard Jebb. 
 
 It is almost impossible that Tennyson should surpass 
 himself; the poet of In Memoriam, of Maud, and 
 of the Idylls has no rival to fear in the author of 
 Queen Mary, of Harold, and now of Becket. It is 
 almost equally incredible that he should fall appreciably 
 below himself. We shall not attempt, therefore, to 
 compare Becket with its dramatic predecessors, still less 
 shall we attempt to determine Tennyson's relative 
 position in the dramatic literature of his country. Such 
 judgments need time and reflection ; in their final shape 
 they can hardly, perhaps, be pronounced by contem- 
 poraries at all. The great business of the critic, says 
 Mr. Matthew Arnold somewhere, is to get himself out of 
 the way, and let humanity decide. If ever that maxim 
 is worthy of observation, it is when a great poet in his 
 maturity gives to the world a work so important as 
 Becket. 
 
 Tennyson is no antiquarian dramatist. Like Shake- 
 speare, he takes a broad and familiar historical outline, 
 and uses it for a dramatic purpose. His object is to 
 write a play, not to rewrite history. There is no 
 
 1 From The Times, December lo, 1884.
 
 446 BECKET. 
 
 subtle attempt to see new lights in Henry's character 
 or Backet's policy. As Shakespeare drew his material 
 sometimes from Holinshed, sometimes from North's 
 Plutarch, and so forth, so Tennyson, though doubt- 
 less his studies have in reality gone far deeper, might 
 almost seem to have sought his material in the few 
 pages of Green's Short History of the English People 
 which describe the characters and relations of Henry 
 and Becket. But there is, on the other hand, this 
 great difference between Shakespeare's " histories " and 
 Tennyson's latest historical play. Shakespeare's plays 
 were written for the stage, and were meant to be acted, 
 Becket is not, in Tennyson's judgment — to judge from the 
 short dedicatory letter to the Lord Chancellor prefixed 
 to the play — adapted in its published form for actual 
 representation. " My dear Selborne," so runs the letter, 
 
 To you, the honoured Chancellor of our own day, I 
 dedicate this dramatic memorial of your great predecessor; 
 — which, altho' not intended in its present form to meet 
 the exigencies of our modern theatre, has nevertheless — 
 for so you have assured me — won your approbation. Ever 
 yours, Tennyson. 
 
 We find it easier to agree with the approbation of 
 the Chancellor than with the judgment of the Laureate. 
 Becket may not be intended in its published form to meet 
 the exigencies of the modern stage — that may be a 
 merit or a defect according to the point of view — but it 
 is a fine poem and a stirring drama, and perhaps, in 
 expressing his intentions in regard to it, Tennyson 
 has rather judged the capacities and opportunities of
 
 NOTES. 447 
 
 the modern stage than the merits and capabilities of his 
 own performance. 
 
 The general dramatic outline of Becket is, as we have 
 indicated, determined by the familiar facts of history. 
 The murder of the great Prelate in Canterbury Cathedral 
 furnishes the necessary catastrophe, and the general 
 relations of Becket with his King provide an effective 
 introduction thereto. The web of tragical circumstance 
 is provided by the skilful interweaving — for which, we 
 presume, the poet himself is responsible — of the King's 
 love for Rosamund with the jealousy of Eleanor. The 
 play is in five Acts, according to precedent, but a Pro- 
 logue is prefixed in which the action is foreshadowed. 
 In our judgment, this Prologue contains some of the 
 most powerful writing in the play. It opens in 
 Normandy, where the King is found playing a game of 
 chess with Becket as he receives the news of Theobald's 
 — Becket's predecessor's — illness and impending death. 
 At first, almost in jest, but afterwards with determined 
 purpose, the King proposes that Becket should be the 
 successor of the dying Primate. We quote the opening 
 scene at some length. Henry and Becket are at 
 
 chess : — 
 
 Henry. 
 
 So then our good Archbishop Theobald 
 
 Lies dying. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 I am grieved to know as much. 
 
 Henry. 
 But we must have a mightier man than he 
 For his successor.
 
 448 BECKET. 
 
 Becket. 
 Have you thought of one? 
 
 Henry. 
 A cleric lately poisoned his own mother, 
 And being brought before the courts of the Church, 
 They but degraded him. I hope they whipt him. 
 I would have hang'd him. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 It is your move. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 Well — there. \_Moves. 
 The Church in the pell-mell of Stephen's time 
 Hath climb'd the throne and almost clutch'd the crown ; 
 But by the royal customs of our realm 
 The Church should hold her baronies of me, 
 Like other lords amenable to law. 
 I'll have them written down and made the law. 
 
 Becket. 
 My liege, I move my bishop. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 And if I live, 
 No man without my leave shall excommunicate 
 My tenants or my household. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Look to your king. 
 
 Henry. 
 No man without my leave shall cross the seas 
 To set the Pope against me — I pray your pardon.
 
 NOTES. 449 
 
 Becket. 
 Well — will you move? 
 
 Henry. 
 
 There. \_Moves. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Check — you move so wildly. 
 
 Henry. 
 There, then ! \Moz>es. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Why — there then, for you see my bishop 
 Hath brought your king to a standstill. You are beaten. 
 
 Henry (kicks over the board). 
 
 Why, there then — down go bishop and king together. 
 I loathe being beaten ; had I fixt my fancy 
 Upon the game I should have beaten thee, 
 But that was vagabond. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Where, my liege? With Phryne, 
 Or Lais, or thy Rosamund, or another? 
 
 Henry. 
 
 My Rosamund is no Lais, Thomas Becket ; 
 And yet she plagues me too — no fault in her — • 
 But that I fear the Queen would have her life. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Put her away, put her away, my liege ! 
 
 Put her away into a nunnery! 
 
 Safe enough there from her to whom thou art bound 
 
 VOL. VI. 2G
 
 450 BECKET. 
 
 By Holy Church. And wherefore should she seek 
 The life of Rosamund Clifford more 
 Than that of other paramours of thine? 
 
 Henry. 
 How dost thou know I am not wedded to her? 
 
 Becket. 
 
 How should I know ? 
 
 Henry. 
 
 That is my secret, Thomas. 
 
 Becket. 
 State secrets should be patent to the statesman 
 Who serves and loves his king, and whom the king 
 Loves not as statesman, but true lover and friend. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 Come, come, thou art but deacon, not yet bishop, 
 No, nor archbishop, nor my confessor yet. 
 I would to God thou wert, for I should find 
 An easy father confessor in thee. 
 
 Becket. 
 
 St. Denis, that thou shouldst not. I should beat 
 Thy kingship as my bishop hath beaten it. 
 
 Henry. 
 Hell take thy bishop then, and my kingship too ! 
 
 Henry then confides to Becket his plans for the 
 seclusion of Rosamund, bespeaking the good offices 
 of his favourite in screening her from the jealousy
 
 NOTES. 451 
 
 of the Queen, and afterwards passes to the question 
 of Theobald's successor. Becket deprecates his own 
 nomination, and shows, by a variety of hints and signs, 
 that as Archbishop he would further the King's wishes 
 and designs only so far as he might do so, to borrow 
 the watchword of his Primacy, while " saving the 
 honour of his order." Their dialogue is interrupted 
 by the entry of Queen Eleanor, accompanied by Sir 
 Reginald Fitzurse, one of the dispossessed barons, who, 
 according to the scheme of the play, had formerly 
 aspired to the love of Rosamund and been slighted by 
 her. The Queen sees on the table the plan of 
 Rosamund's bower, which Henry had just been explain- 
 ing to Becket. This provokes her jealous and whimsical 
 temper, which finds expression in the following power- 
 ful scene : — 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Over ! the sweet summer closes, 
 The reign of the roses is done ; 
 
 Over and gone with the roses. 
 And over and gone with the sun. 
 
 Here ; but our sun in Aquitaine lasts longer. I would I 
 were in Aquitaine again — your north chills me. 
 
 Over ! the sweet summer closes, 
 And never a flower at the close ; 
 
 Over and gone with the roses, 
 And winter again and the snows. 
 
 That was not the way I ended it first — but unsymmetri- 
 cally, preposterously, illogically, out of passion, without art 
 — like a song of the people. Will you have it ? The last
 
 452 BECKET, 
 
 Parthian shaft of a forlorn Cupid at the King's left breast, 
 and all left-handedness and under-handedness. 
 
 And never a flower at the close, 
 Over and gone with the roses, 
 Not over and gone with the rose. 
 
 True, one rose will out-blossom the rest, one rose in a 
 bower. I speak after my fancies, for I am a Troubadour, 
 you know, and won the violet at Toulouse ; but my voice 
 is harsh here, not in tune, a nightingale out of season ; for 
 marriage, rose or no rose, has killed the golden violet. 
 
 Becket. 
 Madam, you do ill to scorn wedded love. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 So I do. Louis of France loved me, and I dreamed that 
 I loved Louis of France : and I loved Henry of England, 
 and Henry of England dreamed that he loved me ; but 
 the marriage-garland withers even with the putting on, tlie 
 bright link rusts with the breath of the first after-marriage 
 kiss, the harvest moon is the ripening of the harvest, and 
 the honeymoon is the gall of love ; he dies of his honey- 
 moon. I could pity this poor world myself that it is no 
 
 better ordered. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 Dead, is he, my Queen? What, altogether? Let me 
 swear nay to that by this cross on thy neck. God's eyes ! 
 what a lovely cross! what jewels ! 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Doth it please you? Take it and wear it on that hard 
 heart of yours — there. {Gives it to him.
 
 NOTES. 453 
 
 Henry {puts it on). 
 
 On this left breast before so hard a heart, 
 To hide the scar left by thy Parthian dart. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Has my simple song set you jingling? Nay, if I took 
 and translated that hard heart into our Proven9al facilities, 
 I could so play about it with the rhyme 
 
 Henry. 
 
 That the heart were lost in the rhyme and the matter 
 in the metre. May we not pray you, madam, to spare us 
 the hardness of your facility ? 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 The wells of Castaly are not wasted upon the desert. 
 We did but jest. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 There's no jest on the brows of Herbert there. What is 
 it, Herbert? 
 
 Enter Herbert of Bosham. 
 
 Herbert. 
 My liege, the good Archbishop is no more. 
 
 Henry. 
 
 Peace to his soul ! 
 
 Herbert. 
 
 I left him with peace on his face — that sweet other- 
 world smile, which will be reflected in the spiritual body 
 among the angels. But he longed much to see your 
 Grace and the Chancellor ere he past, and his last words
 
 454 BECKET. 
 
 were a commendation of Thomas Becket to your Grace as 
 his successor in the archbishopric. 
 
 Henry. 
 Ha, Becket ! thou rememberest our talk ? 
 
 Becket. 
 My heart is full of tears — I have no answer. 
 
 Henry. 
 Well, well, old men must die, or the world would grow 
 mouldy, would only breed the past again. Come to me 
 to-morrow. Thou hast but to hold out thy hand. Mean- 
 while the revenues are mine. A-hawking, a-hawking ! If 
 I sit, I grow fat. \Leaps over the table, a7id exit. 
 
 The Prologue closes with a conversation between 
 Eleanor and Fitzurse, in which the Queen urges the 
 latter to seek out Rosamund's retreat, and to " make 
 her as hateful to herself and to the King as she is to 
 me." In the First Act, Becket is already Archbishop, 
 and begins to disclose the change of his relations 
 towards the King, which his new position, aided by his 
 temperament, prone to ecclesiastical domination, forces 
 upon him. " Thou art the man," says Herbert of 
 Bosham, his friend, " be thou a mightier Anselm." 
 To which Becket replies : 
 
 I do believe thee, then. I am the man. 
 
 And yet I seem appalPd — on such a sudden 
 
 At such an eagle-height I stand and see 
 
 The rift that runs between me and the King. 
 
 I served our Theobald well when I was with him ; 
 
 I served King Henry well as Chancellor;
 
 NOTES. 455 
 
 I am his no more, and I must serve the Church. 
 This Canterbury is only less than Rome, 
 And all my doubts I fling from me like dust, 
 Winnow and scatter all scruples to the wind, 
 And all the puissance of the warrior. 
 And all the wisdom of the Chancellor, 
 And all the heap'd experiences of life, 
 I cast upon the side of Canterbury — - 
 Our holy mother Canterbury, who sits 
 With tatter'd robes. Laics and barons, thro' 
 The random gifts of careless kings, have graspt 
 Her livings, her advowsons, granges, farms, 
 And goodly acres — we will make her whole ; 
 Not one rood lost. And for these Royal customs, 
 These ancient Royal customs— they are Royal, 
 Not of the Church — and let them be anathema, 
 And all that speak for them anathema. 
 
 As a sign of his changed demeanour Becket resolves 
 forthwith to send back the Great Seal to the King, 
 and this done the scene rapidly changes to the Council 
 of Northampton, where the Archbishop at first refuses 
 and then consents to sign the Constitutions or Customs 
 proposed by the King, and finally declining to ratify 
 his signature by his seal he is driven to fly from the 
 country and to pass into banishment. The succession 
 of scenes which we have here passed hastily over is full 
 of fine passages eminently illustrative of Tennyson's 
 dramatic versatility and variety. We despair of doing 
 them justice by quotation, but we cannot omit the 
 following extract from the King's address to his 
 Council : —
 
 456 BECKET. 
 
 Barons and bishops of our realm of England, 
 
 After the nineteen winters of King Stephen — 
 
 A reign which was no reign, when none could sit 
 
 By his own hearth in peace ; when murder common 
 
 As nature''s death, like Egypt's plague, had filPd 
 
 All things with blood ; when every doorway blush'd, 
 
 Dash'd red with that unhallow'd passover ; 
 
 When every baron ground his blade in blood; 
 
 The household dough was kneaded up with blood ; 
 
 The millwheel turn'd in blood ; the wholesome plow 
 
 Lay rusting in the furrow's yellow weeds. 
 
 Till famine dwarft the race — I came, your King! 
 
 Nor dwelt alone, like a soft lord of the East, 
 
 In mine own hall, and sucking thro' fools' ears 
 
 The flatteries of corruption — went abroad 
 
 Thro' all my counties, spied my people's ways ; 
 
 Yea, heard the churl against the baron — yea, 
 
 And did him justice ; sat in mine own courts 
 
 Judging my judges, that had found a King 
 
 Who ranged confusions, made the twilight day, 
 
 And struck a shape from out the vague, and law 
 
 From madness. And the event — our fallows till'd. 
 
 Much corn, repeopled towns, a realm again. 
 
 So far my course, albeit not glassy-smooth, 
 
 Had prosper'd in the main, but suddenly 
 
 Jarr'd on this rock. A cleric violated 
 
 The daughter of his host, and murder'd him. 
 
 Bishops — York, London, Chichester, Westminster — 
 
 Ye haled this tonsured devil into your courts ; 
 
 But since your canon will not let you take 
 
 Life for a life, ye but degraded him 
 
 Where I had hang'd him. What doth hard murder care
 
 NOTES. 457 
 
 For degradation? and that made me muse, 
 Being bounden by my coronation oath 
 To do men justice. 
 
 In the Second Act Rosamund herself is first intro- 
 duced. It consists of two scenes only, the first between 
 Henry and Rosamund in the bower, the second, in 
 sharp contrast to it, being the attempted reconciliation 
 between Henry and Becket at the meeting of the Kings 
 at Montmirail. In the first Rosamond pleads for 
 Becket and obtains from the King as a gift the fateful 
 cross which Eleanor had given him. Her pleading is 
 unheeded and Henry parts from her with an evasion. 
 In the scene at Montmirail the reconciliation is almost 
 accomplished when it is frustrated by Becket's stubborn- 
 ness and the King's passionate temper : 
 
 Henry. 
 
 Ah, Thomas, Thomas, 
 Thou art thyself again, Thomas again. 
 
 Becket {rising). 
 Saving God's honour ! 
 
 Henry. 
 Out upon thee, man ! 
 Saving the DeviPs honour, his yes and no. 
 Knights, bishops, earls, this London spawn — by Mahound, 
 I had sooner have been born a Mussulman — 
 Less clashing with their priests — 
 I am half-way down the slope — will no man stay me? 
 I dash myself to pieces — I stay myself — 
 Putf — it is gone. You, Master Becket, you
 
 4S8 BECKET. 
 
 That owe to me your power over me — 
 
 Nay, nay — 
 
 Brother of France, you have taken, cherish'd him 
 
 Who thief-like fled from his own church by night, 
 
 No man pursuing. I would have had him back. 
 
 Take heed he do not turn and rend you too : 
 
 For whatsoever may displease him — that 
 
 Is clean against God's honour — a shift, a trick 
 
 Whereby to challenge, face me out of all 
 
 My regal rights. Yet, yet— that none may dream 
 
 I go against God's honour— ay, or himself 
 
 In any reason, choose 
 
 A hundred of the wisest heads from Enrfand, 
 
 A hundred, too. from Normandy and Anjou : 
 
 Let these decide on what was customary 
 
 In olden days, and all the Church of France 
 
 Decide on their decision, I am content. 
 
 More, what the mightiest and the holiest 
 
 Of all his predecessors may have done 
 
 Ev'n to the least and meanest of my own, 
 
 Let him do the same to me— I am content. 
 
 In the Third Act we return again to Rosamund's 
 bower, and the first note of her impending fate is 
 struck in the whimsical rustic song of her seeming- 
 silent but garrulous waiting-maid Margery : 
 
 Babble in bower 
 
 Under the rose ! 
 Bee mustn't buzz. 
 
 Whoop — but he knows. 
 Kiss me, little one, 
 
 Nobody near !
 
 NOTES. 459 
 
 Grasshopper, grasshopper, 
 Whoop — you can hear. 
 
 Kiss in the bower, 
 Tit on the tree ! 
 Bird mustn't tell, 
 Whoop — he can see- 
 Eleanor has at last tracked Rosamund to her retreat, 
 but the catastrophe of the underplot is reserved for a 
 tremendous scene in the Fourth Act, and before its 
 denouement is reached the scene changes to the Traitor's 
 Meadow at Freteval, where Becket, though at last out- 
 wardly reconciled to the King, begins to feel a pre- 
 sentiment of the fate that awaits him. He turns a deaf 
 ear to the remonstrances of Walter Map, who urges 
 conciliation and compromise, and thus reveals the full 
 scope of his pretensions and aspirations : 
 
 No ! To die for it— 
 I live to die for it, I die to live for it. 
 The State will die, the Church can never die. 
 The King's not like to die for that which dies ; 
 But I must die for that which never dies. 
 It will be so — my visions in the Lord : 
 It must be so, my friend ! the wolves of England 
 Must murder her one shepherd, that the sheep 
 May feed in peace. False figure. Map would say. 
 Earth's falses are heaven's truths. And when my voice 
 Is martyr'd mute, and this man disappears, 
 That perfect trust may come again between us, 
 And there, there, there, not here I shall rejoice 
 To find my stray sheep back within the fold.
 
 46o BECKET. 
 
 The crowd are scattering, let us move away ! 
 And thence to England. 
 
 In the opening of the Fourth Act Queen Eleanor 
 penetrates Rosamund's bower by following the guidance 
 of Rosamund's child, Geoffrey, who has strayed beyond 
 the forbidden precincts. She proffers to Rosamund the 
 choice of a dagger or of poison, but Rosamund pleads 
 for her life and that of her child. Eleanor's terms are 
 hard and her taunting bitter : 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Will you not say you are not married to him? 
 
 Rosamund. 
 Ay, madam, I can say it, if you will. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 Then is thy pretty boy a bastard ? 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 No. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 And thou thyself a proven wanton ? 
 
 Rosamund. 
 
 No. 
 
 I am none such. I never loved but one. 
 I have heard of such that range from love to love 
 Like the wild beast — if you can call it love. 
 I have heard of such — yea, even among those 
 Who sit on thrones — I never saw any such.
 
 NOTES. 461 
 
 Never knew any such, and howsoever 
 
 You do misname me, matched with any such, 
 
 I am snow to mud. 
 
 Eleanor. 
 
 The more the pity then 
 That thy true home — the heavens — cry out for thee 
 Who art too pure for earth. 
 
 Then the base Fitzurse, who has accompanied Eleanor, 
 strives to renew his rejected suit to Rosamund. " Give 
 her to me," he says, and Eleanor offers Rosamund her 
 life on these degrading terms : 
 
 Take thy one chance ; 
 Catch at the last straw. Kneel to thy lord Fitzurse ; 
 Crouch even because thou hatest him ; fawn upon him 
 For thy life and thy son's. 
 
 Rosamund {rising). 
 
 I am a Clifford, 
 My son a Clifford and Plantagenet. 
 I am to die, then, tho' there stand beside thee 
 One who might grapple with thy dagger, if he 
 Had aught of man, or thou of woman ; or I 
 Would bow to such a baseness as would make me 
 Most worthy of it : both of us will die. 
 And I will fly with my sweet boy to heaven. 
 And shriek to all the saints among the stars : 
 'Eleanor of Aquitaine, Eleanor of England! 
 Murder'd by that adulteress Eleanor, 
 Whose doings are a horror to the east, 
 A hissing in the west! ' Have we not heard 
 Raymond of Poitou, thine own uncle — nay,
 
 462 BECKET. 
 
 Geoffrey Plantagenet, thine own husband's father — 
 Nay, ev'n the accursed heathen Saladdeen — 
 Strike ! 
 
 I challenge thee to meet me before God. 
 Answer me there. 
 
 Eleanor {raising the dagger'). 
 This in thy bosom, fool, 
 And after in thy bastard's ! 
 
 {Enter Becket from behind. Catches hold of her arm.) 
 
 Becket. 
 
 Murderess ! 
 
 Becket's arrival arrests the murder of Rosamund, and 
 he persuades her, according to the alternative legend, to 
 take refuge in the nunnery at Godstow. This proves in 
 the end his own undoing, for Eleanor goes back to the 
 King in France, and, showing him the cross, her own 
 gift to him, which she had wrested from Rosamund in 
 the bower, persuades him that Rosamund has sent it 
 back to him because she is dead to earth and dead 
 henceforth to him, and mockingly hints that Becket 
 has sent her to Godstow because he loves her him- 
 self. This calls forth from Henry the following burst 
 of passion, almost yEschylean in its intensity and 
 audacity : — 
 
 To put her into Godstow nunnery ! 
 
 He dared not — liar ! yet, yet I remember — 
 
 I do remember. 
 
 He bad me put her into a nunnery — 
 
 Into Godstow, into Hellstow, Devilstow!
 
 NOTES. 463 
 
 The Church ! the Church ! 
 
 God's eyes ! I would the Church were down in hell ! 
 
 No man to love me, honour me, obey me! 
 
 Sluggards and fools! 
 
 The slave that eat my bread has kick'd his King ! 
 
 The dog I cramm'd with dainties worried me ! 
 
 The fellow that on a lame jade came to court, 
 
 A ragged cloak for saddle — he, he, he, 
 
 To shake my throne, to push into my chamber — 
 
 My bed, where ev'n the slave is private — he — 
 
 ni have her out again, he shall absolve 
 
 The bishops — they but did my will — not you — 
 
 Sluggards and fools, why do you stand and stare? 
 
 You are no king's men — you — you — you are Becket's men. 
 
 Down with King Henry! up with the Archbishop! 
 
 Will no man free me from this pestilent priest? 
 
 The fatal words are spoken in the hearing of Becket's 
 enemies, Fitzurse, De Brito, De Tracy, and De Morville, 
 and thus the catastrophe is prepared. The murderers 
 seek Becket at Canterbury and summon him to submit 
 himself to the King. Becket defies them : 
 
 Ye think to scare me from my loyalty 
 
 To God and to the Holy Father. No ! 
 
 Tho' all the swords in England flash'd above me 
 
 Ready to fall at Henry's word or yours — 
 
 Tho' all the loud-lung'd trumpets upon earth 
 
 Blared from the heights of all the thrones of her kings, 
 
 Blowing the world against me, I would stand 
 
 Clothed with the full authority of Rome, 
 
 Mail'd in the perfect panoply of faith.
 
 464 BECKET. 
 
 First of the foremost of their files, who die 
 For God, to people heaven in the great day 
 When God makes up his jewels. 
 
 And so his proud defiance lasts until the tragic end, the 
 circumstances of which no one who has read English 
 history, and no one who in future reads EngHsh poetry, 
 is likely to forget. 
 
 We have said enough and quoted enough to 
 show that Becket is a work eminently worthy of 
 Tennyson's genius and fame. It is dramatic in its 
 conception and execution, full of poetry and fire ; its 
 versification is strong and varied in cadence, and 
 its several episodes are well conceived and skilfully 
 woven together. Of the songs in the play we have 
 given two specimens, selected rather for their impor- 
 tance in relation to its dramatic development than for 
 their intrinsic lyrical excellence. In this latter respect, 
 though their merit is not inconsiderable, they are 
 surpassed no doubt both in poetry and music by the 
 exquisite duet which opens the Second Act, and cer- 
 tainly they cannot compare with many of Tennyson's 
 earlier lyrical efforts. But it is no real demerit in 
 songs inserted in a dramatic poem that they are rather 
 appropriate to the dramatic evolution of the play than 
 gems whose independent lustre might easily outshine 
 their setting. There are many questions to be asked 
 in judging of an historical drama. Does it illustrate 
 the history on which it is based without slavishly 
 adhering to its details? Are its characters broadly 
 and firmly conceived and consistently developed? Is 
 it really dramatic in conception, and does the imagina-
 
 NOTES. 465 
 
 tion fuse its component parts into a coherent unity of 
 execution? If these questions can be answered in the 
 affirmative — and we think they can in the case of 
 Becket — the result is a play which, whether it is adapted 
 to meet the exigencies of the modern theatre or not, is 
 a genuine and important addition to the permanent 
 treasures of English literature. There have been 
 times in the history of the English drama when no 
 play of Shakespeare would have held the stage for a 
 week. It is probable enough that there are many plays 
 of Shakespeare which would fail to hold the stage at 
 the present time. But the fault lies not so much in 
 Shakespeare, who wrote for the stage of his time and 
 understood it, as in the changed condition of the stage. 
 So again it is doubtful whether Hernani, for instance, 
 would in an English dress attract an English audience ; 
 while it is certain that Racine appeals for the most part 
 to a taste which is not English. It is thus easy to see 
 that there are varieties and degrees of dramatic excel- 
 lence, and that the criterion of successful performance 
 on the actual stage is only one of the tests whereby a 
 dramatic work of serious and permanent pretensions is 
 to be tried. But whatever test we apply we can con- 
 fidently express our conviction that Becket is a drama of 
 great power, finely conceived and finely executed, as 
 well as a poem of great and varied beauty. 
 
 VOL. VI 2H
 
 B EC K ET 
 
 A TRAGEDY 
 
 IN A PROLOGUE AND FOUR ACTS 
 
 BY 
 
 ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON 
 
 AS ARRANGED FOR THE STAGE 
 
 BY 
 
 HENRY IRVING 
 
 AND AFTERWARDS SUBMITTED TO THE AUTHOR 
 
 AND PRESENTED AT THE LYCEUM THEATRE 
 
 ON 6th FEBRUARY 1893
 
 DRAMATIS PERSON/E. 
 
 (Chancellor of England 
 {afterwards Archbishop 
 of Canterbury) 
 Henry II. . . King of England . 
 
 King Louis of France .... 
 Gilbert Foliot . Bishop of London 
 Roger . . Archbishop of York 
 
 Bishop of Hereford .... 
 Bishop of Chichester 
 
 Friends of Becket 
 
 Hilary 
 
 John of Salisbury 
 
 Herbert of Boshani 
 
 Edward Grim . A monk of Cambridge 
 
 Sir Reginald Fitzurse -| The Four Knights 
 
 Sir Richard de Brito 
 Sir William de Tracy 
 Sir Hugh de Morville 
 De Broc 
 
 Richard de Hastings 
 
 of the King's 
 
 household,enem ies 
 
 of Becket 
 
 ( Grand Prior of 
 
 Mr. Irving 
 
 Mr. William Terriss 
 
 Mr. Bond 
 
 Mr. Lacy 
 
 Mr. Beaumont 
 
 Mr. Gushing 
 
 Mr. Archer 
 
 Mr. Bishop 
 
 Mr. Haviland 
 
 Mr. W. J. HOLLOWAY 
 
 Mr. Fra, k Cooper 
 Mr. Tyars 
 Mr. Hague 
 Mr. Percival 
 Mr. Tabb 
 
 [m 
 
 r. Seldon 
 
 Templars 
 
 The Youngest Knight Templar , . Mr. Gordon Craig 
 Lord Leicester ..... Mr. Harvey 
 
 The Popes \ 
 Almoner 
 
 Herald 
 
 Geoffrey Son of Rosamund and Henry 
 
 Philip de Eleemosyna 
 
 r 
 
 ( A 
 
 Mr. Howe 
 
 Retainers 
 
 Countrymen 
 
 John of Oxford 
 Servant 
 
 ■1 
 
 Called the Swearer 
 
 Eleanor of Aquitane 
 Margery 
 
 f Queen of England, 
 I divorced from Louis 
 
 ed fri 
 of France 
 
 AND 
 
 Mr. L. Belmore 
 Master Leo Hvrne 
 Mr. Yeldha.M 
 Mr. LoRRiss 
 Mr. Johnson 
 Mr. Reynolds 
 Mr. Ian Robertson 
 Mr. Davis 
 
 Miss Genevieve Ward 
 
 Miss Kate Phillips 
 
 Miss Ellen Terry 
 
 Rosamund de Clifford . 
 
 Knights, Monks, Heralds, Soldiers, Retainers, etc. 
 469
 
 SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY. 
 
 Scene i 
 Scene 2 
 
 PROLOGUE . 
 
 A Castle in Normandy 
 The Same 
 
 W. Telbin 
 W. Telbin 
 
 Scene i 
 Scene 2 
 Scene 3 
 Scene 4 
 
 Scene i 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Becket's House in London 
 Street in Northampton . 
 
 The Same 
 The Hall in Northampton 
 
 ACT H. 
 Rosamund's Bower . 
 
 /. Harker 
 Hawes Craven 
 Hawes Craven 
 Hawes Craven 
 
 Hawes Craven 
 
 Scene i 
 
 Scene 2 
 Scene 3 
 
 Scene i 
 Scene 2 
 Scene 3 
 
 ACT HL 
 
 " Meeting of the Kings," Montmirail Hawes Craven 
 f Outside the Woods near ] 
 1 Rosamund's Bower J 
 Rosamund's Bower 
 
 Hawes Craven 
 Hawes Craven 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Castle in Normandy . 
 
 A Room in Canterbury Monastery 
 North Transept of Canterbury Cathedral 
 
 Scene — France and England. 
 
 W. Telbin 
 W. Telbin 
 W. Telbin 
 
 470
 
 B E C K E T. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 Scene i. — A Castle in Normandy. 
 Eleanor. Fitzurse. 
 
 Eleanor. Dost thou love this Becket, this son of a 
 London merchant, that thou hast sworn a vokintary alle- 
 giance to him ? 
 
 Fitzurse. Not for my love toward him, but because he 
 had the love of the King. How should a baron love a 
 beggar on horseback, with the retinue of three kings behind 
 him, outroyalling royalty? 
 
 Eleanor. Pride of the plebeian ! 
 
 Fitzurse. And this plebeian like to be Archbishop ! 
 
 Eleanor. True, and I have an inherited loathing of 
 these black sheep of the Papacy. Archbishop? I can see 
 further into a man than our hot-headed Henry, and if there 
 ever come feud between Church and Crown, and I do not 
 then charm this secret out of our loyal Thomas, I am not 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Fitzurse. Last night I followed a woman in the city 
 here. Her face was veiled, but the back methought was 
 Rosamund — his paramour, thy rival. I can feel for thee. 
 
 471
 
 472 BECKET. 
 
 Eleanor. Thou feel for me ! — paramour — rival ! No 
 paramour but his own wedded wife ! King Louis had no 
 paramours, and I loved him none the more. Henry had 
 many, and I loved him none the less. I would she were 
 but his paramour, for men tire of their fancies ; but I fear 
 this one fancy hath taken root, and borne blossom too, and 
 she, whom the King loves indeed, is a power in the State. 
 Follow me this Rosamund day and night, whithersoever she 
 goes ; track her, if thou canst, even into the King's lodging, 
 that I may {clenches her fisf\ — may at least have my cry 
 against him and her, — and thou in thy way shouldst be 
 jealous of the King, for thou in thy way didst once, what 
 shall I call it, affect her thine own self. 
 
 FiTZURSE. Ay, but the young filly winced and whinnied 
 and flung up her heels ; and then the king came honeying 
 about her, and this Becket, her father's friend, like enough 
 staved us from her. 
 
 Eleanor. Us ! 
 
 FiTZURSE. Yea, by the Blessed Virgin ! There were 
 more than I buzzing round the blossom — De Tracy — even 
 that flint De Brito. 
 
 Eleanor. Carry her off among you ; run in upon her 
 and devour her, one and all of you ; make her as hateful to 
 herself and to the King, as she is to me. 
 
 FiTZURSE. I and all would be glad to wreak our spite 
 on the rosefaced minion of the King, and bring her to the 
 level of the dust, so that the King 
 
 Eleanor. If thou light upon her — free me from her ! 
 — let her eat it like the serpent, and be driven out of her 
 paradise.
 
 NOTES. 473 
 
 Scene 2. — The Same. 
 Henry and Becket at chess. 
 
 Henry. So then our good Archbishop Theobald 
 Lies dying. 
 
 Becket. I am grieved to know as much. 
 
 Henry. But we must have a mightier man than he 
 For his successor. 
 
 Becket. Have you thought of one ? 
 
 Henry. A cleric lately poison'd his own mother, 
 And being brought before the courts of the Church, 
 They but degraded him. I hope they whipt him. 
 I would have hang'd him. 
 
 Becket. It is your move. 
 
 Henry. Well — there. {Moves. 
 
 The Church in the pell-mell of Stephen's time 
 Hath climb'd the throne and almost clutched the crown; 
 But by the royal customs of our realm 
 The Church should hold her baronies of me, 
 Like other lords amenable to law. 
 I'll have them written down and made the law. 
 
 Becket. My liege, I move my bishop. 
 
 Henry. And if I live. 
 
 No man without my leave shall excommunicate 
 My tenants or my household. 
 
 Becket. Look to your king. 
 
 Henry. No man without my leave shall cross the seas 
 To set the Pope against me — I pray your pardon. 
 
 Becket. Well — will you move? 
 
 Henry. There. {Moves. 
 
 Becket. Check — you move so wildly. 
 
 Henry. There then ! \_Moves.
 
 474 BECKET. 
 
 Becket. Why — there then, for you see my bishop 
 
 Hath brought your king to a standstill. You are beaten. 
 
 Henry. {I'Cicks over the board.] Why, there then — 
 down go bishop and king together. 
 I loathe being beaten ; had 1 fixt my fancy 
 Upon the game I should have beaten thee, 
 But that was vagabond. 
 
 Becket. Where, my liege? With Phryne, 
 
 Or Lais, or thy Rosamund, or another? 
 
 Henry. My Rosamund is no Lais, Thomas Becket; 
 And yet she plagues me too — no fault in her — 
 But that I fear the Queen would have her life. 
 
 Becket. Put her away, put her away, my liege ! 
 Put her away into a nunnery! 
 
 Safe enough there from her to whom thou art bound 
 By Holy Church. And wherefore should she seek 
 The life of Rosamund de Clifford more 
 Than that of other paramours of thine ? 
 
 Henry. How dost thou know I am not wedded to her ? 
 
 Becket. How should I know ? 
 
 Henry. That is my secret, Thomas. 
 
 Becket. State secrets should be patent to the statesman 
 Who serves and loves his king, and whom the king 
 Loves not as statesman, but true lover and friend. 
 
 Henry. Come, come, thou art but deacon, not yet 
 bishop, 
 No, nor archbishop, nor my confessor yet. 
 I would to God thou wert, for I should find 
 An easy father confessor in thee. 
 
 Becket. St. Denis, that thou shouldst not. I should 
 beat 
 Thy kingship as my bishop hath beaten it. 
 
 Henry. Hell take thy bishop then, and my kingship too !
 
 NOTES. 475 
 
 Come, come, I love thee and I know thee, I know thee, 
 
 A doter on white pheasant-flesh at feasts, 
 
 A sauce-deviser for thy days of fish, 
 
 A dish-designer, and most amorous 
 
 Of good old red sound liberal Gascon wine : 
 
 Will not thy body rebel, man, if thou flatter it ? 
 
 Becket. That palate is insane which cannot tell 
 A good dish from a bad, new wine from old. 
 
 Henry. Well, who loves wine loves women. 
 
 Becket. So I do. 
 
 Men are God's trees, and women are God's flowers ; 
 And when the Gascon wine mounts to my head, 
 The trees are all the statelier, and the flowers 
 Are all the fairer. 
 
 Henry. And thy thoughts, thy fancies ? 
 
 Becket. Good dogs, my liege, well trained, and easily 
 caird 
 Off" from the game. 
 
 Henry. Save for some once or twice, 
 
 When they ran down the game and worried it. 
 
 Becket. No, my liege, no ! — not once — in God's name, 
 no ! 
 
 Henry. Nay, then, I take thee at thy word — believe thee 
 The veriest Galahad of old Arthur's hall. 
 And so this Rosamund, my true heart-wife, 
 Not Eleanor — she whom I love indeed 
 As a woman should be loved — Why dost thou smile 
 So dolorously ? 
 
 Becket. My good liege, if a man 
 
 Wastes himself among women, how should he love 
 A woman, as a woman should be loved ? 
 
 Henry. How shouldst thou know that never hast loved 
 one?
 
 476 BECKET. 
 
 Come, I would give her to thy care in England 
 When I am out in Normandy or Anjou. 
 
 Becket. My lord, I am your subject, not your 
 
 Henry. Pander. 
 
 God's eyes ! I know all that — not my purveyor 
 Of pleasures, but to save a life — her life ; 
 Ay, and the soul of Eleanor from hell-fire. 
 I have built a secret bower in England, Thomas, 
 A nest in a bush. 
 
 Becket. And where, my liege ? 
 
 Henry. \}\niispers.'\ Thine ear. 
 
 Becket. That's lone enough. 
 
 Henry. {^Laying paper on tableJ] This chart here 
 mark'd " Her Bower,'''' 
 Take, keep it, friend. See, first, a circling wood, 
 A hundred pathways running everyway, 
 And then a brook, a bridge ; and after that 
 This labyrinthine brickwork maze in maze, 
 And then another wood, and in the midst 
 A garden and my Rosamund. Look, this line — 
 The rest you see is coloured green — but this 
 Draws thro' the chart to her. 
 
 Becket. This blood-red line ? 
 
 Henry. Ay ! blood, perchance, except thou see to her. 
 
 Becket. And where is she ? There in her English 
 nest ? 
 
 Henry. Would God she were — no, here within the city. 
 We take her from her secret bower in Anjou 
 And pass her to her secret bower in England. 
 She is ignorant of all but that I love her. 
 
 Becket. My liege, I pray thee let me hence : a widow 
 And orphan child, whom one of thy wild barons 
 
 Henry. Ay, ay, but swear to see to her in England.
 
 NOTES. 477 
 
 Becket. Well, well, I swear, but not to please myself. 
 
 Henry. Whatever come between us ? 
 
 Becket. What should come 
 
 Between us, Henry? 
 
 Henry. Nay — I know not, Thomas. 
 
 Becket. What need then? Well — whatever come 
 between us. \Goi}ig. 
 
 Henry. A moment! thou didst help me to my throne 
 In Theobald's time, and after by thy wisdom 
 Hast kept it firm from shaking; but now I, 
 For my realm's sake, myself must be the wizard 
 To raise that tempest which will set it trembling 
 Only to base it deeper. I will have 
 My young son Henry crown'd the King of England, 
 That so the Papal bolt may pass by England, 
 As seeming his, not mine, and fall abroad, 
 ril have it done — and now. 
 
 Becket. Surely too young 
 
 Even for this shadow of a crown ; and tho' 
 I love him heartily, I can spy already 
 A strain of hard and headstrong in him. Say, 
 The Queen should play his kingship against thine ! 
 
 Henry. I will not think so, Thomas. Who shall 
 crown him? 
 Canterbury is dying. 
 
 Becket. The next Canterbury. 
 
 Henry. And who shall he be, my friend Thomas? 
 Who? 
 
 Becket. Name him; the Holy Father will confirm him. 
 
 Henry. \_Lays his hand on V>^cyjiLt''?> shoulder P^ Here! 
 
 Becket. Mock me not. I am not even a monk. 
 Thy jest — no more. Why — look — is this a sleeve 
 For an archbishop ?
 
 478 BECKET. 
 
 Henry. But the arm within 
 
 Is Becket's, who hath beaten down my foes. 
 
 Becket. a soldier's, not a spiritual arm. 
 
 Henry. I laclc a spiritual soldier, Thomas — 
 A man of this world and the next to boot. 
 
 Becket. There's Gilbert Foliot. 
 
 Henry. He! too thin, too thin. 
 
 Thou art the man to fill out the Church robe ; 
 Your Foliot fasts and fawns too much for me. 
 
 Becket. Roger of York. 
 
 Henry. Roger is Roger of York. 
 
 King, Church, and State to him but foils wherein 
 To set that precious jewel, Roger of York. 
 No. 
 
 Becket. Sire, the business 
 Of thy whole kingdom waits me : let me go. 
 
 Henry. Answer me first. 
 
 Becket. Make 7>ie archbishop! Why, my liege, I 
 know 
 Some three or four poor priests a thousand times 
 Fitter for this grand function. Me archbishop! 
 God's favour and king's favour might so clash 
 That thou and I That were a jest indeed! 
 
 Henry. Thou angerest me, man : I do not jest. 
 
 Enter Eleanor. 
 Eleanor. {Singhig.'\ 
 
 Over ! the sweet summer closes, 
 The reign of the roses is done 
 
 Henry. {To Becket, who is gomg.'] Thou shalt not 
 go. I have not ended with thee.
 
 NOTES. 479 
 
 Eleanor. [Seeing chart on table, aside. '\ This chart 
 with the red line! her bower! whose bower? 
 
 Henry. The chart is not mine, but Becket's : take it, 
 Thomas. 
 
 Eleanor. Becket ! O — ay — and these chessmen on 
 the floor — the king's crown broken ! Becket hath beaten 
 thee again — and thou hast kicked down the board. I 
 know thee of old. 
 
 Henry. True enough, my mind was set upon other 
 matters. 
 
 Eleanor. What matters ? State matters ? love 
 matters ? 
 
 Henry. My love for thee, and thine for me. 
 
 Eleanor. Louis of France loved me, and I dreamed 
 that I loved Louis of France : and I loved Henry of Eng- 
 land, and Henry of England dreamed that he loved me ; 
 but the marriage-garland withers even with the putting 
 on, the harvest moon is the ripening of the harvest, and the 
 honeymoon is the gall of love ; he dies of his honeymoon. 
 
 Henry. Dead is he, my Queen ? What, altogether ? 
 Let me swear nay to that by this cross on thy neck. 
 God's eyes ! what a lovely cross ! what jewels ! 
 
 Eleanor. Doth it please you ? Take it and wear it 
 on that hard heart of yours — there. [Gives it to him. 
 
 Henry. [Puts it on.] On this left breast before so 
 hard a heart. 
 To hide the scar left by thy Parthian dart. 
 
 Eleanor. Has my simple song set you jingling ? Nay, 
 if I took and translated that hard heart into our Provencal 
 facilities, I could so play about it with the rhyme 
 
 Henry. That the heart were lost in the rhyme and the 
 matter in the metre. May we not pray you, Madam, to 
 spare us the hardness of your facility ?
 
 48o BECKET. 
 
 Eleanor. The wells of Castaly are not wasted upon 
 the desert. We did but jest. 
 
 Henry. There's no jest on the brows of Herbert there. 
 What is it, Herbert ? 
 
 E7iter Herbert of Bosham. 
 
 Herbert. My liege, the good Archbishop is no more. 
 
 Henry. Peace to his soul ! 
 
 Herbert. I left him with peace on his face— that 
 sweet other-world smile, which will be reflected in the 
 spiritual body among the angels. But he longed much to 
 see your Grace and the Chancellor ere he past, and his 
 last words were a commendation of Thomas Becket to your 
 Grace as his successor in the archbishoprick. 
 
 Henry. Ha, Becket ! thou rememberest our talk ! 
 
 Becket. My heart is full of tears— I have no answer. 
 
 Henry. Well, well, old men must die, or the world 
 would grow mouldy. A-hawking, a-hawking ! If I sit, I 
 grow fat. \_Leaps over table, and exit.
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene i. — Becket's House in London. Chatnber barely 
 furnished. Becket unrobing. Herbert of Bosham 
 and Servant. 
 
 Servant. Shall I not help your lordship to your rest ? 
 
 Becket. Friend, am I so much better than thyself 
 That thou shouldst help me ? Thou art wearied out 
 With this day's work, get thee to thine own bed. 
 Leave me with Herbert, friend. \_Exit Servant. 
 
 Help me off, Herbert, with this— and this. 
 
 Herbert. Was not the people's blessing as we past 
 Heart -comfort and a balsam to thy blood ? 
 
 Becket. The people know their Church a tower of 
 strength, 
 A bulwark against Throne and Baronage. 
 Too heavy for me, this ; off with it, Herbert ! 
 
 Herbert. Is it so much heavier than thy Chancellor's 
 robe ? 
 
 Becket. No ; but the Chancellor's and the Archbishop's 
 Together more than mortal man can bear. 
 
 Herbert. Not heavier than thine armour at Toulouse ? 
 
 Becket. But hast thou heard this cry of Gilbert P'oliot 
 That I am not the man to be your Primate, 
 For Henry could not work a miracle — 
 Make an Archbishop of a soldier? 
 
 VOL. VI. 2 1 481
 
 482 BECKET. 
 
 Herbert. Ay, 
 
 For Gilbert Foliot held himself the man. 
 
 Becket. Am I the man? That rang 
 Within my head last night, and when I slept 
 Methought I stood in Canterbury Minster, 
 And spake to the Lord God, and said, 
 '• Henry the King hath been my friend, my brother, 
 And mine uplifter in this world, and chosen me 
 For this thy great archbishoprick, believing 
 That I should go against the Church with him, 
 And I shall go against him with the Church. 
 Am / the man ? " And the Lord answer'd me, 
 " Thou art the man, and all the more the man." 
 And thereupon, methought, He drew toward me, 
 And smote me down upon the Minster floor. 
 I fell. 
 
 Herbert. God make not thee, but thy foes, fall. 
 
 Becket. And yet I seem appall'd — on such a sudden 
 At such an eagle-height I stand and see 
 The rift that runs between me and the King. 
 
 Herbert. Thomas, thou art moved too much. 
 
 Becket. O Herbert, here 
 
 I gash myself asunder from the King, 
 Tho' leaving each, a wound ; mine own, a grief 
 To show the scar for ever — his, a hate 
 Not ever to be heal'd. 
 
 E7iter Rosamund de Clifford. Drops her veil. 
 
 Rosamund. Save me, father, hide me. 
 Becket. Rosamund de Clifford ! 
 
 Rosamund. They follow me — and I must not be known. 
 Becket. Pass in with Herbert there. 
 
 {Exeunt Rosamund and Herbert by side door.
 
 NOTES. 483 
 
 Enter Fitzurse. 
 
 FiTZURSE. The Archbishop ! 
 
 Becket. Ay! what wouldst thou, Reginald ? 
 
 Fitzurse. Why — why, my lord, I follow'd — follow'd 
 one — • 
 
 Becket. And then what follows ? Let me follow thee. 
 
 Fitzurse. It much imports me I should know her 
 name. 
 
 Becket. What her? 
 
 Fitzurse. The woman that I follow'd hither. 
 
 Becket. Perhaps it may import her all as much 
 Not to be known. 
 
 Fitzurse. And what care I for that? 
 
 Come, come, my lord Archbishop ; I saw that door 
 Close even now upon the woman. 
 
 Becket. Well ? 
 
 Fitzurse. \_Making for the door.] Nay, let me pass, 
 my lord, for I must know. 
 
 Becket. Back, man! 
 Go home, and sleep thy wine off, for thine eyes 
 Glare stupid-wild with wine. 
 
 Fitzurse. [Making to the door.'] I must and will. 
 I care not for thy new archbishoprick. 
 
 Becket. Back, man, I tell thee ! Lest 
 I smite thee with my crozier on the skull ! 
 
 Fitzurse. I shall remember this. 
 
 Becket. Do, and begone ! lExit Fitzurse. 
 
 These be those baron-brutes 
 That havock'd all the land in Stephen's day. 
 Rosamund de Clifford.
 
 484 BECKET. 
 
 Re-enter Rosamund and Herbert. 
 
 Rosamund. Here am I. 
 
 Becket. Why here ? 
 
 We gave thee to the charge of John of Salisbury, 
 To pass thee to thy secret bower to-morrow. 
 Wast thou not told to keep thyself from sight? 
 
 Rosamund. Poor bird of passage! so I was ; but, 
 father, 
 They say that you are wise in winged things, 
 And know the ways of Nature. Bar the bird 
 From following the fled summer — a chink — he's out, 
 Gone! And there stole into the city a breath 
 Full of the meadows, and it minded me 
 Of the sweet woods of Clifford, and the walks 
 Where I could move at pleasure, and I thought 
 Lo! I must out or die. 
 
 Becket. Or out and die. 
 
 And what hast thou to do with this Fitzurse ? 
 
 Rosamund. Nothing. He sued my hand. I shook at 
 him. 
 He found me once alone. Nay — nay — I cannot 
 Tell you : my father drove him and his friends, 
 De Tracy and De Brito, from our castle. 
 I heard him swear revenge. 
 
 Becket. Why will you court it 
 
 By self-exposure 1 flutter out at night ? 
 Make it so hard to save a moth from the fire? 
 
 Rosamund. I have saved many of 'em. You catch 
 'em, so, 
 Softly, and fling them out to the free air. 
 They burn themselves within-door. 
 
 Becket. Our good John
 
 NOTES. 485 
 
 Must speed you to your bower at once. The child 
 Is there already. 
 
 Rosamund. Yes — the child — the child — 
 O rare, a whole long day of open field. 
 
 Becket. Ay, but you go disguised. 
 
 Rosamund. O rare again ! 
 
 We'll baffle them, I warrant. What shall it be? 
 ril go as a nun. 
 
 Becket. No. 
 
 Rosamund. What, not good enough 
 
 Even to play at nun? 
 
 Becket. Dan John with a nun, 
 
 That Map, and these new railers at the Church, 
 May plaister his clean name with scurrilous rhymes ! 
 No! 
 
 Go like a monk, cowling and clouding up 
 That fatal star, thy Beauty, from the squint 
 Of lust and glare of malice. Good-night! good-night! 
 
 Rosamund. Father, I am so tender to all hardness! 
 Nay, father, first thy blessing. 
 
 Becket. Wedded? 
 
 Rosamund. Father ! 
 
 Becket. Well, well! I ask no more. Heaven bless 
 thee ! hence ! 
 
 Rosamund. O holy father, when thou seest him next, 
 Commend me to thy friend. 
 
 Becket. What friend ? 
 
 Rosamund. The King. 
 
 Becket. Herbert, take out a score of armed men 
 To guard this bird of passage to her cage ; 
 And watch Fitzurse, and if he follow thee. 
 Make him thy prisoner. I am Chancellor yet. 
 
 \_Exeuni Herbert atid Rosamund.
 
 486 BECKET. 
 
 Poor soul! poor soul! 
 
 My friend, the King! . . . O thou Great Seal of England, 
 
 Given me by my dear friend the King of England— 
 
 We long have wrought together, thou and I — 
 
 Now must I send thee as a common friend 
 
 To tell the King, my friend, I am against him. 
 
 Herbert. {Re-entering.^ My lord, the town is quiet 
 and the moon 
 Divides the whole long street with light and shade. 
 No footfall — no Fitzurse. 
 
 Becket. The hog hath tumbled himself into some 
 corner, 
 Some ditch, to snore away his drunkenness 
 Into the sober headache, — Nature's moral 
 Against excess. Let the Great Seal be sent 
 Back to the King to-morrow. 
 
 Herbert. Must that be? 
 The King may rend the bearer limb from limb. 
 
 Enter John of Salisbury. 
 
 John. Thomas, thou wast not happy taking charge 
 Of this wild Rosamund to please the King, 
 Nor am I happy having charge of her — 
 The included Danae has escaped again 
 Her tower, and her Acrisius— where to seek ? 
 I have been about the city. 
 
 Becket. Thou wilt find her 
 
 Back in her lodging. Go with her— at once— 
 To-night— my men will guard you to the gates. 
 Be sweet to her, she has many enemies. 
 Send the Great Seal by daybreak. Both good-night! 
 
 {Exit.
 
 NOTES. 487 
 
 Scene 2. — Street in Northampton leading to the Castle. 
 Eleanor's Retainers and Becket's Retainers 
 fighting. 
 
 Enter Eleanor and Becket from opposite streets. 
 
 Eleanor. Peace, fools ! 
 
 Becket. Peace, friends ! what idle brawl is this? 
 Retainers of Becket. They said — her Grace's people 
 — thou wast found — 
 Liars ! I shame to quote 'em — caught, my lord, 
 With a wanton in thy lodging — Hell requite 'em ! 
 Retainers of Eleanor. My liege, the Lord Fitzurse 
 reported this 
 In passing to the Castle even now. 
 
 Retainers of Becket. And then they mock'd us and 
 
 we fell upon 'em. 
 Becket. \_To his Retainers.] Go, go — no more of 
 
 this! 
 Eleanor. {^To her Retainers.] Away ! — 
 
 \Exetmt Retainers. 
 
 Fitzurse 
 
 Becket. Nay, let him be. 
 
 Eleanor. No, no, my Lord Archbishop, 
 
 'Tis known you are midwinter to all women, 
 But often in your chancellorship you served 
 The follies of the King. 
 
 Becket. No, not these follies ! 
 
 Eleanor. My lord, Fitzurse beheld her in your 
 
 lodging. 
 Becket. Whom ? 
 
 Eleanor. Well — you know — the minion, Rosamund. 
 Becket. He had good eyes !
 
 488 BECKET. 
 
 Eleanor. Then hidden in the street 
 
 He watch'd her pass with John of Salisbury 
 And heard her cry "Where is this bower of mine?" 
 
 Becket. Good ears too ! 
 
 Eleanor. You are going to the Castle, 
 
 Will you subscribe the customs ? 
 
 Becket. I leave that, 
 
 Knowing how much you reverence Holy Church, 
 My liege, to your conjecture. 
 
 Eleanor. I and mine — 
 
 And many a baron holds along with me — 
 Are not so much at feud with Holy Church 
 But we might take your side against the customs — 
 So that you grant me one slight favour. 
 
 Becket. What? 
 
 Eleanor. A sight of that same chart which Henry 
 gave you 
 With the red line — "her bower." 
 
 Becket. And to what end? 
 
 Eleanor. Look ! I would move this wanton from his 
 sight 
 And take the Church's danger on myself. 
 
 Becket. For which she should be duly grateful. 
 
 Eleanor. True! 
 
 Tho' she that binds the bond, herself should see 
 That kings are faithful to their marriage vow. 
 
 Becket. Ay, Madam, and queens also. 
 
 Eleanor. And queens also! 
 
 What is your drift? 
 
 Becket. My drift is to the Castle, 
 
 Where I shall meet the Barons and my King. \Exit.
 
 NOTES. 489 
 
 De Broc, De Tracy, De Brito, De Morville 
 (^passing) . 
 
 Eleanor. To the Castle ? 
 
 De Broc. Ay ! 
 
 Eleanor. Stir up the King, the Lords ! 
 
 Set all on fire against him ! 
 
 De Brito. Ay, good Madam ! {^Exeunt. 
 
 Eleanor. Fool ! I will make thee hateful to thy King. 
 Churl ! I will have thee frighted into France, 
 And I shall live to trample on thy grave. \Exit. 
 
 Scene 3. — The Same. 
 
 De Broc, De Tracy, De Brito, De Morville 
 
 {passing) . 
 
 FiTZURSE. I hate him for his insolence to all. 
 De Tracy. And I for all his insolence to her. 
 De Brito. I hate him for I hate him is my reason, 
 And yet I hate him for a hypocrite. 
 
 Scene 4. — The Hall in Northamptoti Castle. 
 
 On one side of the stage doors of an inner Council-chamber., 
 half open. At the bottom, the great doors of the 
 Hall. Roger Archbishop of York, Foliot 
 Bishop of London, Hilary of Chichester, 
 Bishop of Hereford, Richard de Hastings 
 {Grand Prior of Templars), Philip de Eleemosyna 
 {the Pope'^s Almoner), and others. De Broc, Fitz- 
 urse, De Brito, De Morville, De Tracy, and
 
 490 BECKET. 
 
 other Barons assembled — a table before them. John 
 OF Oxford, President of the Council. 
 
 Enter Becket and Herbert of Bosham. 
 
 Becket. Where is the king ? 
 
 Roger of York. Gone hawking on the Nene, 
 His heart so gall'd with thine ingratitude, 
 He will not see thy face till thou hast signM 
 These ancient laws and customs of the realm. 
 Thy sending back the Great Seal madden'd him, 
 He all but pluck'd the bearer's eyes away. 
 Take heed, lest he destroy thee utterly. 
 
 Becket. Then shalt thou step into my place and sign. 
 
 Roger of York. Didst thou not promise Henry to 
 obey 
 These ancient laws and customs of the realm ? 
 
 Becket. Saving the honour of my order — ay. 
 Customs, traditions, — clouds that come and go ; 
 The customs of the Church are Peter's rock. 
 
 Roger of York. Saving thine order ! Saving thine 
 order, Thomas, 
 Is black and white at once, and comes to nought. 
 
 Becket. Roger of York, 
 
 When I and thou were youths in Theobald's house, 
 Twice did thy malice and thy calumnies 
 Exile me from the face of Theobald. 
 Now I am Canterbury and thou art York. 
 
 Roger of York. And is not York the peer of Canter- 
 bury ? 
 
 John of Oxford. Peace, peace, my lords ! these 
 customs are no longer 
 As Canterbury calls them, wandering clouds. 
 But by the King's command are written down,
 
 NOTES. ' 491 
 
 And by the King's command I, John of Oxford, 
 The President of this Council, read them. 
 
 Becket. Read! 
 
 John of Oxford. " If any cleric be accused of 
 felony, the Church shall not j^rotect him ; but he shall 
 answer to the summons of the King's court to be tried 
 therein." 
 
 Becket. And that I cannot sign. 
 
 John of Oxford. "When a bishoprick falls vacant, 
 the King, till another be appointed, shall receive the 
 revenues thereof." 
 
 Becket. And that I cannot sign. 
 
 John of Oxford. "And when the vacancy is to be 
 filled up, the King shall summon the chapter of that church 
 to court, and the election shall be made in the Chapel 
 Royal." 
 
 Becket. And that I cannot sign : for that would make 
 Our island-Church a schism fi-om Christendom, 
 And weigh down all free choice beneath the throne. 
 
 FoLiOT. And was thine own election so canonical, 
 Good father ? 
 
 Becket. If it were not, Gilbert Foliot, 
 I mean to cross the sea to France, and lay 
 My crozier in the Holy Father's hands. 
 And bid him re-create me, Gilbert Foliot. 
 
 Foliot. Nay ; by another of these customs thou 
 Wilt not be suffered so to cross the seas 
 Without the license of our lord the King. 
 
 Becket. That, too, I cannot sign. 
 
 De Broc, De Brito, De Tracy, Fitzurse, 
 De Morville, start up — a clash of swords. 
 
 Sign and obey !
 
 492 BECKET. 
 
 Becket. My lords, is this a combat or a council ? 
 Are ye my masters, or my lord the King ? 
 
 Lords. \Shoidingr^ Sign, and obey the crown ! 
 
 Becket. The crown ? Shall I do less for Canterbury 
 Than Henry for the crown ? 
 
 De Broc. The King is quick to anger; if thou anger 
 him, 
 We wait but the King's word to strike thee dead. 
 
 Becket. Strike, and I die the death of martyrdom ; 
 Strike, and ye set these customs by my death 
 Ringing their own death-knell thro' all the realm. 
 
 Herbert. And I can tell you, lords, ye are all as like 
 To lodge a fear in Thomas Becket's heart 
 As find a hare's form in a lion's cave. 
 
 John of Oxford. Ay, sheathe your swords, ye will 
 displease the King. 
 
 De Broc. Why down then thou ! but an he come to 
 Saltwood, 
 By God's death thou shalt stick him like a calf ! 
 
 {Sheathing his sword. 
 
 Hilary. O my good lord, I do entreat thee — sign. 
 Save the King's honour here before his barons. 
 
 Philip de Eleemosyxa. My lord, thine ear ! I have 
 the ear of the Pope. 
 He pray"d me to pray thee to pacify 
 Thy King ; for if thou go against thy King, 
 Then must he likewise go against thy King, 
 And then thy King might join the Antipope, 
 And that would shake the Papacy as it stands. 
 
 Becket. If Rome be feeble, then should I be firm. 
 
 Richard de Hastings. {Kneeling^ Becket, I am the 
 oldest of the Templars ; 
 I knew thy father ; he would be mine age
 
 NOTES. 493 
 
 Had he lived now ; think of me as thy father ! 
 Behold thy father kneeling to thee, Becket. 
 
 Another Templar. \_Kneelhig.'] Father, I am the 
 youngest of the Templars, 
 Look on me as I were thy bodily son, 
 For, like a son, I lift my hands to thee. 
 
 Philip. Wilt thou hold out for ever, Thomas Becket ? 
 Dost thou not hear ? 
 
 Becket. [^S!g?is.'] Why — there then — there — I sign. 
 And swear to obey the customs. 
 
 [Becket draws apart with Herbert. 
 Herbert, Herbert, have I betray'd the Church ? 
 I'll have the paper back — blot out my name. 
 
 Herbert. Too late, my lord : you see they are signing 
 there. 
 
 Becket. False to myself— it is the will of God 
 To break me, prove me nothing of myself ! 
 This Almoner hath tasted Henry's gold. 
 The cardinals have finger'd Henry's gold. 
 And Rome is venal ev'n to rottenness. 
 I see it, 1 see it. 
 
 I am no soldier, as he said — at least 
 No leader. 
 
 FOLIOT. {From the table.'] My lord Archbishop, thou 
 hast yet to seal. 
 
 Becket. First, Foliot, let me see what I have sign'd. 
 
 {Goes to the table. 
 What, this ! and this— what ! new and old together ! 
 Seal ? If a seraph shouted from the sun. 
 And bad me seal against the rights of the Church, 
 I would anathematise him. I will not seal. 
 
 \Exit with Herbert.
 
 494 BECKET. 
 
 Enter King Henry. 
 
 Henry. Where's Thomas ? hath he sign'd ? show me 
 the papers ! 
 SignM and not seal'd ! How's that ? 
 
 John of Oxford. He would not seal. 
 
 And when he signM he sat down there and groan'd — 
 " False to myself ! It is the will of God ! " 
 
 Henry. God's will be what it will, the man shall seal, 
 Or I will seal his doom. My burgher's son — 
 Nay, if I cannot break him as the prelate, 
 I'll crush him as the subject. Send for him back. 
 
 \Sits 071 his throne. 
 Barons and bishops of our realm of England, 
 After the nineteen winters of King Stephen — 
 A reign which was no reign — I came, your King ! 
 And the event— our fallows till'd. 
 Much corn, repeopled towns, a realm again. 
 And, looking thro' my reign, 
 I found a hundred ghastly murders done 
 By men, the scum and offal of the Church ; 
 Then, glancing thro' the story of this realm, 
 I came on certain wholesome usages. 
 Lost in desuetude, of my grandsire's day. 
 Good royal customs — had them written fair 
 For John of Oxford here to read to you. 
 
 John of Oxford. And I can easily swear to these as 
 being 
 The King's will and God's will and justice ; yet 
 I could but read a part to-day, because 
 
 FiTzuRSE. Because my lord of Canterbury 
 
 De Tracy. Ay, 
 
 This lord of Canterbury
 
 NOTES. 495 
 
 De Brito. As is his wont 
 Too much of late whene'er your royal rights 
 Are mooted in our councils 
 
 FiTZURSE. — made an uproar. 
 
 Henry. And Becket had my bosom on all this ; 
 If ever man by bonds of gratefulness — 
 I raised him from the puddle of the gutter, 
 Hoped, were he chosen Archbishop, Church and Crown, 
 Two sisters gliding in an equal dance, 
 Two rivers gently flowing side by side — 
 But no ! 
 
 The bird that moults sings the same song again, 
 The snake that sloughs comes out a snake again. 
 God's eyes ! I had meant to make him all but king. 
 Chancellor-Archbishop, he might well have sway'd 
 All England under Henry, the young King, 
 When I was hence. What did the traitor say? 
 False to himself, but ten-fold false to me ! 
 The will of God — why, then it is my will — 
 Is he coming? 
 
 Hilary. \_Entenng.'] With a crowd of worshippers, 
 And holds his cross before him thro' the crowd 
 As one that puts himself in sanctuary. 
 Henry. His cross! 
 
 Roger of York. His cross ! I'll front him, cross to 
 cross. 'lExit Roger of York. 
 
 Henry. His cross ! it is the traitor that imputes 
 Treachery to his King! 
 It is not safe for me to look upon him. 
 Away — with me ! 
 
 [Goes in with his Barons to the Council-chamber., 
 the door of which is left open.
 
 496 BECKET. 
 
 Enter Becket, holding his cross of silver before him. 
 The Bishops come round him. 
 
 Hereford. The King will not abide thee with thy 
 cross. 
 Permit me, my good lord, to bear it for thee, 
 Being thy chaplain. 
 
 Becket. No : it must protect me. 
 
 FOLIOT. I am the Dean of the province : let me bear it. 
 Make not thy King a traitorous murderer. 
 
 Becket. Did not your barons draw their swords 
 against me ? 
 
 Enter Roger of York, with his cross, advaticiftg to 
 Becket. 
 
 Becket. Wherefore dost thou presume to bear thy 
 cross. 
 Against the solemn ordinance from Rome, 
 Out of thy province ? 
 
 Roger of York. Why dost thou presume, 
 Arm'd with thy cross, to come before the King? 
 
 FOLIOT. As Chancellor thou wast against the Church, 
 Now as Archbishop goest against the King ; 
 For, like a fool, thou know'st no middle way. 
 Ay, ay! but art thou stronger than the King? 
 
 Becket. Strong — not in mine own self, but Heaven; 
 true 
 To either function, holding it ; and thou 
 Fast, scourge thyself, and mortify thy flesh. 
 Not spirit — thou remainest Gilbert Foliot. 
 Get ye hence, 
 Tell what I say to the King. 
 
 {Exeunt Hereford, Foliot, and other Bishops.
 
 NOTES. 497 
 
 Roger of York. The Church will hate thee. 
 
 \_Exit. 
 Becket. Serve my best friend and make him my 
 worst foe ; 
 Fight for the Church, and set the Church against me ! 
 
 Herbert. To be honest is to set all knaves against 
 thee. 
 Ah ! Thomas, excommunicate them all ! 
 
 FiTZURSE. {Re-enter ingP^ My lord, the King demands 
 three hundred marks. 
 Due from his castles of Berkhamstead and Eye 
 When thou thereof wast warden. 
 
 Becket. Tell the King 
 
 I spent thrice that in fortifying his castles. 
 
 De Tracy. {Re-entering?^ My lord, the King demands 
 seven hundred marks. 
 Lent at the siege of Toulouse by the King. 
 
 Becket. I led seven hundred knights and fought his 
 
 wars. 
 De Brito. {Re-entering.'] My lord, the King demands 
 five hundred marks. 
 Advanced thee at his instance by the Jews, 
 For which the King was bound security. 
 
 Becket. I thought it was a gift ; I thought it was a 
 gift. 
 
 Ettter Lord Leicester {followed by Roger of York, 
 Hilary, Barons and Bishops). 
 
 Leicester. My lord, I come unwillingly. The King 
 Demands a strict account of all those revenues 
 From all the vacant sees and abbacies, 
 Which came into thy hands when Chancellor. 
 
 VOL. VL 2K
 
 498 BECKET. 
 
 Becket. How much might that amount to, my lord 
 Leicester ? 
 
 Leicester. Some thirty— forty thousand silver marks. 
 
 Becket. Are these your customs ? Grant me but one 
 day, 
 To ponder these demands. 
 
 Leicester. Hear first thy sentence ! 
 The King and all his lords 
 
 Becket. Son, first hear me ! 
 
 Leicester. Nay, but hear thy judgment. 
 
 The King and all his barons 
 
 Becket. Judgment ! Barons ! 
 
 Who but the bridegroom dares to judge the bride, 
 Or he the bridegroom may appoint ? Not he 
 That is not of the house, but from the street, 
 Stain'd with the mire thereof. 
 
 I will not stand 
 By the King's censure, make my cry to the Pope, 
 By whom I will be judged ; refer myself, 
 The King, these customs, all the Church, to him. 
 And under his authority— I depart. {Going. 
 
 De Brito, Fitzurse, De Tracy, and others 
 {flinging ivisps of rushes). 
 
 De Brito, etc. Ay, go in peace, caitiff, caitiff! And 
 that too, perjured prelate— and that, turncoat shaveling! 
 There, there, there ! traitor, traitor, traitor ! 
 
 Becket. Mannerless wolves ! 
 
 {Turning and facing them. 
 When what ye shake at doth but seem to fly, 
 True test of coward, ye follow with a yell.
 
 NOTES. 499 
 
 Enter Herald. 
 
 Herald. The King commands you, upon pain of death, 
 That none should wrong or injure your Archbishop. 
 
 \_Greai doors of the Hall at the back open, and 
 discover a crowd. They shout : 
 Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord ! 
 
 Becket. The voice of the Lord is in the voice of the 
 People ! 
 The voice of the Lord will hush the hounds of Hell, 
 That ever yelp and snarl at Holy Church, 
 In everlasting silence.
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene i. — Rosamund's Bower. A Garden of Flowers. 
 In the midst a bank of wild-flowers with a bench 
 before it. 
 
 Enter Henry and Rosamund. 
 
 Rosamund. My own true liege and lord! O Henry — 
 husband — 
 Be friends with him again— I do beseech thee. 
 
 Henry. With Becket ? I have but one hour with 
 thee — 
 Sceptre and crozier clashing, and the mitre 
 Grappling the crown — and when I flee from this 
 For a gasp of freer air, a breathing-while 
 To rest upon thy bosom and forget him — 
 Why thou, my bird, thou pipest Becket, Becket — 
 
 Rosamund. Let there not be one frown in this one 
 hour. 
 Out of the many thine, let this be mine ! 
 
 Henry. Well, well, no more of him — Fll send his folk, 
 His kin, all his belongings, overseas ; 
 Age, orphans, and babe-breasting mothers — all 
 By hundreds to him — there to beg, starve, die — 
 The man shall feel that I can strike him yet. 
 
 Rosamund. Babes, orphans, mothers ! is that royal, 
 Sire ? 
 
 500
 
 NOTES. 50* 
 
 Henry. Traitress ! 
 
 Rosamund. A faithful traitress to tliy royal fame. 
 Henry. Fame ! what care I for fame ? 
 Fame of to-day is infamy to-morrow ; 
 Infamy of to-day is fame to-morrow ; 
 And round and round again. What matters ? Royal — 
 I mean to leave the royalty of my crown 
 Unlessen'd to mine heirs. 
 
 Rosamund. Still— thy fame too : 
 
 I say that should be royal. 
 
 Henry. And I say, 
 
 I care not for thy saying. 
 
 Rosamund. And I say, 
 
 I care not for thy saying. 
 
 Henry. Care dwell with me for ever, when I cease 
 To care for thee as ever ! 
 
 Rosamund. No need ! no need ! . . . 
 
 There is a bench. Come, wilt thou sit ? . . . My bank 
 Of wild-flowers \Jie sits\. At thy feet ! 
 
 \She sits at his feet. 
 Henry. I bad them clear 
 
 A royal pleasaunce for thee, in the wood, 
 Not leave these countryfolk at court. 
 
 Rosamund. I brought them 
 
 In from the wood, and set them here. I love them 
 More than the garden flowers, that seem at most 
 Sweet guests, or foreign cousins, not half speaking 
 The language of the land. I love them too, 
 Yes. But, my liege, I am sure, of all the roses- 
 Shame fall on those who gave it a dog's name — 
 This wild one {picking a briar-rose']— Wiy, I shall not prick 
 
 myself — 
 Is sweetest. Do but smell !
 
 502 BECKET. 
 
 Henry. Thou rose of the world ! 
 
 Thou rose of all the roses ! — thine ! thine ! 
 
 Rosamund. I know it. 
 
 Henry. [Aluitering.'] Not hers. We have but one 
 bond, her hate of Becket. 
 
 Rosamund. {Half hearing.'\ Nay! nay! what art thou 
 muttering? /hate Becket? 
 My fault to name him ! O let the hand of one 
 To whom thy voice is all her music, stay it 
 But for a breath. {Ptds her hand before his lips. 
 
 Speak only of thy love. 
 There ! wherefore dost thou so peruse it ? Nay, 
 There may be crosses in my line of life. 
 
 Henry. No mate for her, if it should come to that. 
 Life on the hand is naked gipsy-stuff; 
 Life on the face, the brows — clear innocence ! 
 Vein'd marble — not a furrow yet — and hers 
 
 \JMtittering. 
 Crost and recrost, a venomous spider's web 
 
 Rosamund. {Springitig ttp.'] Out of the cloud, my 
 Sun — out of the eclipse 
 Narrowing my golden hour ! 
 
 Henry. O Rosamund, 
 
 I would be true — would tell thee all — and something 
 I had to say — I love thee none the less — 
 Which will so vex thee. 
 
 Rosamund. Something against me ? 
 
 Henry. No, no, against myself. 
 
 Rosamund. I will not hear it. 
 
 Come, come, mine hour ! I bargain for mine hour, 
 ril call thee little Geoffrey. 
 
 Henry. Call him ! 
 
 Rosamund. Geoffrey !
 
 NOTES. 503 
 
 Henry. {Looking ojf.'] How the boy grows ! 
 Rosamund. Ay, and his brows are thine ; 
 
 The mouth is only Clifford, my dear father. 
 
 Geoffrey runs on. 
 
 Geoffrey. My liege, what hast thou brought me ? 
 
 Henry. Venal imp ! 
 
 What sayst thou to the Chancellorship of England ? 
 
 Geoffrey. O yes, my liege. 
 
 Henry. " O yes, my liege ! " He speaks 
 
 As if it were a cake of gingerbread. 
 
 Dost thou know, my boy, what it is to be Chancellor 
 of England ? 
 
 Geoffrey. Something good, or thou wouldst not give 
 
 it me. 
 
 Henry. It is, my boy, to side with the King when 
 Chancellor, and then to be made Archbishop and go 
 against the King who made him, and turn the world 
 upside down. 
 
 Geoffrey. I won't have it then. Nay, but give it me, 
 and I promise thee not to turn the world upside down. 
 
 Henry. [Giving hint a ball.l Here is a ball, my boy, 
 thy world, to turn any way and play with as thou wilt — 
 which is more than I can do with mine. Go try it, 
 play. \_Exit Geoffrey. 
 
 A pretty lusty boy. 
 
 Rosamund. So like to thee ; 
 
 Like to be liker. 
 
 Henry. Not in my chin, I hope ! 
 
 That threatens double. 
 
 Rosamund. Thou art manlike perfect. 
 
 Henry. Ay, ay, no doubt; and were I humpt behind, 
 Thou'dst say as much — the goodly way of women
 
 504 BECKET. 
 
 Who love, for which I love them. May God 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 flashed 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 shalt 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.
 
 NOTES. 505 
 
 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 ! Fll have it with me in my 
 shroud, 
 And wake with it, and show it to all the Saints. 
 
 Henry. Nay — I must go; for I must hence to brave 
 The Pope, King Louis, and this turbulent priest. 
 
 Rosamund. \Knecli]igP^ O by thy love for me, all mine 
 for thee, 
 Fling not thy soul into the flames of hell : 
 I kneel to thee — be friends with him again. 
 
 Henry. {Breaking off suddenly.'] 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 learned. 
 
 Henry. I am the King, his father. 
 
 And I will look to it. 
 
 Rosamund. iVIust you go, my liege, 
 
 So suddenly ? 
 
 Henry. I came to England suddenly,
 
 5o5 BECKET. 
 
 I needs must leave as suddenly. It is raining, 
 Put on your hood and see me to the bounds. 
 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 ! \_Exemit. 
 
 Margerv. [Singing behind scene.'\ 
 
 Babble in bower 
 
 Under the rose ! 
 Bee mustn't buzz, 
 
 Whoop — but he knows. 
 
 Kiss me, little one, 
 
 Nobody near ! 
 Grasshopper, grasshopper, 
 
 Whoop — you can hear. 
 
 Kiss in the bower, 
 
 Tit on the tree ! 
 Bird mustn't tell, 
 
 Whoop — he can see. 
 
 Enter Margery {chattering'). 
 
 I ha' been but a week here and I ha' seen what I ha' 
 seen, for to be sure it's no more than a week since our old 
 Father Philip that has confessed our mother for twenty 
 years, and she was hard put to it, and to speak truth, nigh 
 at the end of our last crust, and that mouldy, and she cried 
 out on him to put me forth in the world and to make me a 
 woman of the world, and to win my own bread, whereupon 
 he asked our mother if I could keep a quiet tongue i' my 
 head, and not speak till I was spoke to, and I answered 
 for myself that I never spoke more than was needed, and
 
 NOTES. 507 
 
 he told me he would advance me to the service of a great 
 lady, and took me ever so far away, and the more shame 
 to him after his promise, into a garden and not into the 
 world, and bad me whatever I saw not to speak one word, 
 and I ha' seen what I ha' seen, and what's the good of 
 my talking to myself, for here comes my lady [enter 
 Rosamund], and, my lady, tho' I shouldn't speak one 
 word, I wish you joy o' the King's brother, 
 
 Rosamund. What is it you mean ? 
 
 Margery. I mean your goodman, your husband, my lady, 
 for I saw your ladyship a-parting wi' him even now i' the 
 coppice, when I was a-getting o' bluebells for your ladyship's 
 nose to smell on — and I ha' seen the King once at Oxford, 
 and he's as like the King as fingernail to fingernail, and I 
 thought at first it was the King, only you know the King's 
 married, for King Louis 
 
 Rosamund. Married ! 
 
 Margery. Years and years, my lady, for her husband, 
 King Louis 
 
 Rosamund. Hush ! 
 
 Margery. And I thought if it were the King's 
 
 brother he had a better bride than the King, for the people 
 do say that his is bad beyond all reckoning, and 
 
 Rosamund. The people lie. 
 
 Margery. Very like, my lady, but most on 'em know 
 an honest woman and a lady when they see her, and besides 
 they say, she makes songs, and that's against her, for I 
 never knew an honest woman that could make songs, tho' 
 to be sure our mother 'ill sing me old songs by the hour, 
 but then, God help her, she had 'em from her mother, and 
 her mother from her mother back and back for ever so 
 long, but none on 'em ever made songs, and they were ail 
 honest.
 
 So8 BECKET. 
 
 Rosamund. Go, you shall tell me of her some other 
 time. 
 
 Margery. There's none so much to tell on her, my 
 lady, only she kept the seventh commandment better than 
 some I know on, or I couldn't look your ladyship i' the face, 
 and she brew'd the best ale in all Glo'ster, that is to say in 
 her time when she had the " Crown." 
 
 Rosamund. The crown ! who 1 
 
 Margery. Mother. 
 
 Rosamund. I mean her whom you call — fancy — my 
 husband's brother's wife. 
 
 Margery. Oh, Queen Eleanor. Yes, my lady; and 
 tho' I be sworn not to speak a word, I can tell you all about 
 her, if 
 
 Rosamund. No word now. I am faint and sleepy. 
 Leave me. Nay— go. I am in the dark. \^Exit Margery. 
 He charged me not to question any of those 
 About me. Have I ? she questioned 7iie. 
 1 have lived, poor bird, from cage to cage, and known 
 Nothing but him — happy to know no more, 
 So that he loved me — and he loves me — yes, 
 And bound me by his love to secrecy 
 Till his own time. 
 
 Eleanor, Eleanor, have I 
 Not heard ill things of her in France ? Oh, she's 
 The Queen of France. I see it — some confusion, 
 Some strange mistake. I did not hear aright, 
 Myself confused with parting from the King. 
 Yet her— what her ? he hinted of some her— 
 When he was here before — 
 
 Something that would displease me. Hath he stray'd 
 From love's clear path into the common bush, 
 And, being scratched, returns to his true rose.
 
 NOTES. 509 
 
 Who hath not thorn enough to prick him for it, 
 
 Ev'n with a word ? 
 
 I would not hear him. Nay — there's more — there's more 
 
 " No mate for her, if it should come to that '' — 
 
 To that— to what ? 
 
 O God ! some dreadful truth is breaking on me — 
 
 Some dreadful thing is coming on me. 
 
 \_Enter Geoffrey. 
 GeolTrey I 
 Geoffrey. What are you crying for, when the sun 
 shines ? 
 
 Rosamund. Hath not thy father left us to ourselves ? 
 Geoffrey. Ay, but he's taken the rain with him. I 
 hear Margery : Til go play with her. [Exit Geoffrey. 
 
 Rosamund. Rainbow, stay. 
 
 Gleam upon gloom, 
 Bright as my dream, 
 Rainbow, stay ! 
 But it passes away. 
 Gloom upon gleam. 
 Dark as my doom — 
 O rainbow stay.
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene i. — Montmirail. " The Meetiftg of the Kings^ 
 Louis of France. Crowd in the distance. 
 
 Louis. Becket, my friend of friends ! I must save 
 him from my brother Henry — and I have asked him to 
 meet the Archbishop here. Surely thro' Henry's savagery 
 he and his friends would have starved in banishment but 
 for my giving them food and home. Henry's mood of 
 wrath continues yet, and he has made York, in defiance 
 of Canterbury, crown young Henry. Therefore our holy 
 Becket keeps the threat of the Pope over England. Now 
 is the time to patch up a peace. If we steer well, young 
 Henry, whom Becket loves, will serve our Becket's and the 
 Church's cause, and all will yet be well. 
 
 Enter Henry. 
 
 Henry. Brother of France, what shall be done with 
 Becket ? 
 
 Louis. The holy Thomas ! Brother, you have trafiSck'd 
 Between the Emperor and the Pope, between 
 The Pope and Antipope — a perilous game 
 For men to play with God. 
 
 Henry. Ay, ay, good brother, 
 
 They call you the Monk-King. 
 
 Louis. Who calls me ? she 
 
 510
 
 NOTES. 511 
 
 That was my wife, now yours ? You have her Duchy, 
 The point you aim'd at, and pray God she prove 
 True wife to you. 
 
 Henry. Tut, tut ! did we convene 
 
 This conference but to babble of our wives ? 
 They are plagues enough in-door. 
 
 Louis. Well, well, no more ! I am proud of my 
 " Monk-King," 
 Whoever named me ; and, brother. Holy Church 
 May rock, but will not wreck, nor our Archbishop 
 Stagger on the slope decks for any rough sea 
 Blown by the breath of kings. Restore his kin. 
 Reseat him on his throne of Canterbury, 
 Be, both, the friends you were. 
 
 Henry. The friends we were ! 
 
 The world had never seen the like before. 
 You are too cold to know the fashion of it. 
 Well, well, we will be gentle with him, gracious — 
 Most gracious. 
 
 [Voices from the Crowd, "Blessed be the 
 Lord Archbishop." 
 
 Enter Becket, after him John of Oxford, Roger of 
 York, Gilbert Foliot, De Broc, Fitzurse, etc. 
 
 Only that the rift he made 
 May close between us, here I am wholly king, 
 The word should come from him. 
 
 Becket. [Kneeling.'] Then, my dear liege, 
 
 I here dehver all this controversy 
 Into your royal hands. 
 
 Henry. Ah, Thomas, Thomas, 
 
 Thou art thyself again, Thomas again. 
 
 Becket. [Risitig.] Saving God's honour !
 
 512 BECKET. 
 
 Henry. Out upon thee, man ! 
 
 Saving the DeviPs honour, his yes and no. 
 Brother of France, you have taken, cherish'd him 
 Who thief-like fled from his own church by night. 
 No man pursuing. I vi^ould have had him back. 
 Take heed he do not turn and rend you too. 
 Yet, yet — that none may dream 
 I go against God's honour — ay, or himself 
 In any reason, choose 
 
 A hundred of the wisest heads from England, 
 A hundred, too, from Normandy and Anjou : 
 Let these decide on what was customary 
 In olden days, and all the Church of France 
 Decide on their decision, I am content. 
 
 Louis. Ay, ay ! the King humbles himself enough. 
 
 Becket. {^Aside-I Words, words ! \_Aloud:\ My 
 lieges and my lords. 
 The thanks of Holy Church are due to those 
 That went before us for their work, which we 
 Inheriting reap an easier harvest. Yet 
 
 Louis. My lord, will you be greater than the Saints, 
 More than St. Peter ? whom what is it you doubt ? 
 
 Becket. O good son Louis, do not counsel me, 
 No, to suppress God's honour for the sake 
 Of any king that breathes. No, God forbid ! 
 
 Henry. No ! God forbid ! and turn me Mussulman ! 
 No God but one, and Mahound is his prophet. 
 But for your Christian, look you, you shall have 
 None other God but me — me, Thomas, son 
 Of Gilbert Becket, London merchant. Out ! 
 I hear no more. {Exit. 
 
 Louis. Our brother's anger puts him, 
 
 Poor man, beside himself— not wise. My lord,
 
 NOTES. 513 
 
 We have claspt your cause, believing that our brother 
 
 Had wrongM you ; but this day he proffer'd peace. 
 
 You will have war ; and tho" we gi-ant the Church 
 
 King over this world's kings, yet, my good lord, 
 
 We that are kings are something in this world, 
 
 And so we pray you, draw yourself from under 
 
 The wings of France. We shelter you no more. {Exit. 
 
 John of Oxford. I am glad that France hath scouted 
 him at last : 
 I told the Pope what manner of man he was. \Eocit. 
 
 Roger of York. Yea, since he flouts the will of either 
 realm, 
 Let either cast him away like a dead dog ! \^Exit. 
 
 FoLiOT. Yea, let a stranger spoil his heritage. 
 And let another take his bishoprick ! 'lExit. 
 
 De Broc. Our castle, my lord, belongs to Canterbury. 
 I pray you come and take it. {Exit. 
 
 Fitzurse. When you will. {Exit. 
 
 Becket. Cursed be John of Oxford, Roger of York, 
 And Gilbert Foliot ! cursed those De Brocs ! 
 Cursed Fitzurse, and all the rest of them 
 That feed this hate between my liege and me, 
 And trample on the rights of Englishmen ! 
 See here ! 
 
 Herbert. What's here ? 
 
 Becket. A notice from the priest. 
 
 To whom our John of Salisbury committed 
 The secret of the bower, that our wolf-Queen 
 Is prowhng round the fold. I should be back 
 In England ev'n for this. 
 
 Herbert. These are by-things 
 
 In the great cause. 
 
 Becket. The by-things of the Lord 
 
 VOL. VI. 2L
 
 514 
 
 BECKET. 
 
 Are the wrong'd innocences that will cry 
 From all the hidden by-ways of the world 
 In the great day against the wronger. 
 
 Herbert. The King ! 
 
 Re-enter King Henry. 
 
 Henry. We have had so many hours together, Thomas, 
 So many happy hours alone together, 
 That I would speak with you once more alone. 
 
 Becket. Send back again those exiles of my kin 
 Who wander famine-wasted thro' the world. 
 
 Henry. Have I not promised, man, to send them back ? 
 
 Becket. Yet one thing more. Thou hast broken thro' 
 the pales 
 Of privilege, crowning thy young son by York, 
 London, and Salisbury' — not Canterbury. 
 
 Henry. York crown'd the Conqueror — not Canterbury. 
 
 Becket. There was no Canterbury in William's time. 
 
 Henry. But Hereford, you know, crown'd the first 
 Henry. 
 
 Becket. And Anselm crown'd this Henry o'er again. 
 
 Henry. And thou shalt crown my Henry o'er again. 
 
 Becket. And is it then with thy good-will that I 
 Proceed against thine evil councillors. 
 And hurl the dread ban of the Church on those 
 Who made the second mitre play the first, 
 And acted me ? 
 
 Henry. Well, well, then — have thy way ! 
 
 It may be they were evil councillors. 
 What more, my lord Archbishop ? What more, Thomas ? 
 1 make thee full amends. Say all thy say, 
 l!ut blaze not out before the Frenchmen here. 
 
 Becket. More ? Nothing, so thy promise be thy deed.
 
 NOTES. 515 
 
 Henry. Give me thy hand. My Lords of France and 
 England, 
 My friend of Canterbury and myself 
 Are now once more at perfect amity. 
 Unkingly should I be, and most unknightly, 
 Not striving still, however much in vain, 
 To rival him in Christian charity. 
 And so farewell, untU we meet in England. 
 
 Becket. Farewell, my liege ! 
 
 {Exit Henry, then the Barons and Bishops. 
 
 Herbert. Did the King speak of the customs ? 
 
 Becket. No ! 
 The State will die, the Church can never die. 
 The King's not like to die for that which dies ; 
 But I must die for that which never dies. 
 It will be so — my visions in the Lord. 
 And when my voice 
 
 Is martyred mute, and this man disappears, 
 That perfect trust may come again between us. 
 The crowd are scattering, let us move away ! 
 And thence to England. 
 
 Scene 2. — Outside the Woods near Rosamund's Bower. 
 
 Eleanor. Fitzurse. 
 
 Eleanor. Up from the salt lips of the land we two 
 Have track'd the King to this dark inland wood ; 
 And somewhere hereabouts he vanished. Here 
 His turtle builds : his exit is our adit : 
 Watch ! he will out again, and presently. 
 
 \_A great horn winded. 
 
 Fitzurse. Hark ! Madam !
 
 5i6 BECKET. 
 
 Eleanor. Ay, 
 
 How ghostly sounds that horn in the black wood ! 
 
 {^A Countryman /lying. 
 Whither away, man ? what are you flying from ? 
 
 Countryman. The witch ! the witch ! she sits naked 
 by a great heap of gold in the middle of the wood, and when 
 the horn sounds she comes out as a wolf. Get you hence ! a 
 man passed in there to-day : I holla'd to him, but he didn't 
 hear me : he'll never out again, the witch has got him. I 
 daren't stay — I daren't stay ! 
 
 Eleanor. Kind of the witch to give thee warning, tho'. 
 
 [Man flies. 
 Is not this wood-witch of the rustic's fear 
 Our woodland Circe that hath witch'd the King ? 
 
 {Horn sounded. Another flying. 
 
 FiTZURSE. Again ! stay, fool, and tell me why thou 
 fliest. 
 
 Countryman. Fly thou too. The King keeps his 
 forest head of game here, and when that horn sounds, a 
 score of wolf-dogs are let loose that will tear thee piecemeal. 
 Linger not till the third horn. Fly ! [Exit. 
 
 Eleanor. This is the likelier tale. We have hit the 
 place. Now let the King's fine game look to itself. 
 
 [Horn. 
 
 FiTZURSE. Again ! — 
 And far on in the dark heart of the wood 
 I hear the yelping of the hounds of hell. 
 
 Eleanor. I have my dagger here to still their throats. 
 
 FiTZURSE. Nay, Madam, not to-night — the night is 
 falling. 
 What can be done to-night ? 
 
 Eleanor. Well— well— away. 
 
 [Exit FiTZURSE.
 
 NOTES. 517 
 
 Geoffrey. {Coming out of the 7vood^ Light again ! 
 light again ! Margery ? no, that's a finer thing there. 
 How it glitters ! 
 
 Eleanor. Come to me, little one. How earnest thou 
 hither ? 
 
 Geoffrey. On my legs. 
 
 Eleanor. And mighty pretty legs too. Thou art the 
 prettiest child I ever saw. Wilt thou love me ? 
 
 Geoffrey. No ; I only love mother. 
 
 Eleanor. Ay ; and who is thy mother ? 
 
 Geoffrey. They call her But she lives secret, 
 
 you see. 
 
 Eleanor. Why ? 
 
 Geoffrey. Don't know why. 
 
 Eleanor. Ay, but some one comes to see her now 
 and then. Who is he ? 
 
 Geoffrey. Can't tell. 
 
 Eleanor. What does she call him ? 
 
 Geoffrey. My liege. 
 
 Eleanor. Pretty one, how earnest thou ? 
 
 Geoffrey. There was a bit of yellow silk here and 
 there, and it looked pretty like a glowworm, and I thought 
 if I followed it I should find the fairies. 
 
 Eleanor. I am the fairy, pretty one, a good fairy to 
 thy mother. Take me to her. 
 
 Geoffrey. There are good fairies and bad fairies, and 
 sometimes she cries, and can't sleep sound o' nights because 
 of the bad fairies. 
 
 Eleanor. She shall cry no more ; she shall sleep 
 sound enough if thou wilt take me to her. I am her good 
 fairy. 
 
 Geoffrey. But you don't look like a good fairy. 
 Mother does. You are not pretty, like mother.
 
 5l8 BECKET. 
 
 Eleanor. We can't all of us be as pretty as thou 
 art — {aside~\ little bastard. Show me where thou earnest 
 out of the wood. 
 
 Geoffrey. By this tree ; but I don't know if I can 
 find the way back again. \^Exeunt. 
 
 Scene 3. — Rosamund's Bower. 
 
 Rosamund. The boy so late ; pray God, he be not lost. 
 I sent this Margery, and she comes not back ; 
 I sent another, and she comes not back. 
 I go myself — so many alleys, crossings, 
 Paths, avenues — nay, if I lost him, now 
 The folds have fallen from the mystery, 
 And left all naked, I were lost indeed. 
 
 Enter Geoffrey and Eleanor. 
 
 Geoffrey, the pain thou hast put me to ! 
 
 [^Seeing Eleanor. 
 Ha, you ! 
 How came you hither ? 
 
 Eleanor. Your own child brought me hither ! 
 
 Geoffrey. You said you couldn't trust Margery, and 
 I watched her and followed her into the woods, and I lost 
 her and went on and on till I found the light and the lady, 
 and she says she can make you sleep o' nights. 
 
 Rosamund. How dared you ? Know you not this 
 bower is secret. 
 Of and belonging to the King of England, 
 More sacred than his forests for the chase ? 
 Nay, nay, Heaven help you ; get you hence in haste 
 Lest worse befall you. 
 
 Eleanor. Child, I am mine own self
 
 NOTES. 519 
 
 Of and belonging to the King. The King 
 Hath divers ofs and ons, ofs and belongings, 
 Almost as many as your true Mussulman — 
 Belongings, paramours, whom it pleases him 
 To call his wives ; but so it chances, child, 
 That I am his main paramour, his sultana. 
 But since the fondest pair of doves will jar, 
 Ev'n in a cage of gold, we had words of late, 
 And thereupon he caird my children bastards. 
 Do you believe that you are married to him ? 
 
 Rosamund. I should believe it. 
 
 Eleanor. You must not believe it, 
 
 Because I have a wholesome medicine here 
 Puts that belief asleep. Your answer, beauty ! 
 Do you beheve that you are married to him ? 
 
 Rosamund. Geoffrey, my boy, I saw the ball you lost 
 in the fork of the gi^eat willow over the brook. Go. See 
 that you do not fall in. Go. 
 
 Geoffrey. And leave you alone with the good fairy. 
 She calls you beauty, but I don't like her looks. 
 
 Rosamund. Go. {Exit Geoffrey. 
 
 Eleanor. He is easily found again. Do you believe it ? 
 I pray you then to take my sleeping-draught ; 
 But if you should not care to take it — see ! 
 
 \praws a dagger. 
 What ! have I scared the red rose from your face 
 Into your heart. But this will find it there, 
 And dig it from the root for ever. 
 
 Rosamund. Help ! help ! 
 
 Eleanor. They say that walls have ears ; but these, 
 it seems. 
 Have none ! and I have none — to pity thee. 
 
 Rosamund. I do beseech you — my child is so young.
 
 520 BECKET. 
 
 1 am not so happy I could not die myself, 
 
 But the child is so young. You have children — his ; 
 
 And mine is the King's child ; so, if you love him — 
 
 Nay, if you love him, there is great wrong done 
 
 Somehow ; but if you do not — there are those 
 
 Who say you do not love him — let me go 
 
 With my young boy, and God will be our guide, 
 
 And I will beg my bread along the world. 
 
 I never meant you harm in any way. 
 
 See, I can say no more. 
 
 Eleanor. Will you not say you are not married to 
 him? 
 
 Rosamund. Ay, Madam, I can say it, if you will. 
 
 Eleanor. Then is thy pretty boy a bastard? 
 
 Rosamund. No. 
 
 Eleanor. And thou thyself a proven wanton? 
 
 Rosamund. No. 
 
 I am none such. I never loved but one. 
 I have heard of such that range from love to love. 
 Like the wild beast — if you can call it love. 
 I have heard of such — yea, even among those 
 Who sit on thrones — I never saw any such. 
 Never knew any such, and howsoever 
 You do misname me, match'd with any such, 
 I am snow to mud. 
 
 Eleanor. The more the pity then 
 That thy true home — the heavens — cry out for thee 
 Who art too pure for earth. 
 
 Enter FiTZURSE. 
 
 FiTZURSE. Give her to me. 
 
 Eleanor. The Judas-lover of our passion-play 
 Hath tracked us hither.
 
 NOTES. 521 
 
 FiTZURSE. Well, why not? I followed 
 
 You and the child : he babbled all the way. 
 Give her to me to make my honeymoon. 
 
 Eleanor. No! 
 
 I follow out my hate and thy revenge. 
 
 FiTZURSE. You bad me take revenge another way — 
 To bring her to the dust. . . . Come with me, love, 
 And I will love thee. . . . Madam, let her live. 
 I have a far-off burrow where the King 
 Would miss her and for ever. 
 
 Rosamund. Give me the poison ; set me free of him! 
 
 [Eleanor offers the vial. 
 No, no! I will not have it. 
 
 Eleanor. Then this other, 
 
 The wiser choice, because my sleeping-draught 
 May bloat thy beauty out of shape, and make 
 Thy body loathsome even to thy child ; 
 While this but leaves thee with a broken heart, 
 A doll-face blanched and bloodless, over which 
 If pretty Geoffrey do not break his own, 
 It must be broken for him. 
 
 Rosamund. Oh, I see now 
 
 Your purpose is to fright me — a troubadour 
 You play with words. You had never used so many, 
 Not if you meant it, I am sure. The child . . . 
 No . . . mercy! No! {Kneels. 
 
 Eleanor. Play! . . . that bosom never 
 
 Heaved under the King's hand with such true passion 
 As at this loveless knife that stirs the riot. 
 Which it will quench in blood! Slave, if he love thee, 
 Thy life is worth the wrestle for it : what's here ? 
 By very God, the cross I gave the King! 
 His village darling in some lewd caress
 
 522 BECKET. 
 
 Has wheedled it off the King's neck to her own. 
 By thy leave, beauty. Ay, the same ! Fitzurse, 
 The running down the chase is kindlier sport 
 Ev'n than the death. Take thy one chance ; 
 Catch at the last straw. Kneel to thy lord Fitzurse; 
 Crouch even because thou hatest him ; fawn upon him 
 For thy life and thy son's. 
 
 Rosamund. {Rising^ I am a Clifford, 
 My son a Clifford and Plantagenet. 
 I am to die then, tho' there stand beside thee 
 One who might grapple with thy dagger, if he 
 Had aught of man, or thou of woman ; or I 
 Would bow to such a baseness as would make me 
 Most worthy of it : both of us will die. 
 Strike! 
 
 I challenge thee to meet me before God. 
 Answer me there. 
 
 Eleanor. {Raising the dagger?^ This in thy bosom, 
 fool, 
 And after in thy bastard's ! 
 
 Enter Beckut from behitid. Catches Jiold of her arm. 
 
 Becket. Murderess ! 
 
 \The dagger falls ; they stare at one another. 
 After a pause. 
 Eleanor. My lord, we know you proud of your fine 
 hand, 
 But having now admired it long enough, 
 We find that it is mightier than it seems — 
 At least mine own is frailer : you are laming it. 
 
 Becket. And lamed and maim'd to dislocation, better 
 Than raised to take a life which Henry bad me
 
 NOTES. 523 
 
 Guard from the stroke that dooms thee after death 
 To wail in deathless flame. 
 
 Eleanor. My lord Fitzurse. 
 
 Becket. He too ! what dost thou here? 
 Go, lest I blast thee with anathema 
 And make thee a world's horror. 
 
 Fitzurse. My lord, I shall 
 
 Remember this. 
 
 Becket. I do remember thee. \^Exit Fitzurse. 
 
 \To Eleanor] Take up your dagger; put it in the sheath. 
 \To Rosamund] Daughter, the world hath trick'd thee, 
 
 leave it, daughter. 
 Come thou with rae to Godstow nunnery.
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene i . — Castle in N'ormandy . King's Chamber. 
 
 Henry, Roger of York, Foliot, Jocelyn of 
 Salisbury. 
 
 Roger of York. Nay, nay, my liege, 
 He rides abroad with armed followers. 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 Crowning thy young son by York, 
 London, and Salisbury — not Canterbury. 
 
 Henry. God's eyes, for that I made him full amends, 
 Told him that he should crown my Henry o'er again. 
 What would ye have me do ? 
 
 Roger of York. Summon your barons ; take their 
 counsel : yet 
 I know — could swear — as long as Becket breathes, 
 Your Grace will never have one quiet hour. 
 
 524
 
 NOTES. 525 
 
 Henry. What ? . . . Ay . . . but pray you do not 
 work upon me. 
 I see your drift ... it may be so . . . and yet 
 You know me easily anger'd. Will you hence? 
 He shall absolve you . . . you shall have redress. 
 I have a dizzying headache. Let me rest, 
 ril call you by and by. 
 
 \_Exeunt Roger of York, Foliot, and Jocelyn 
 OF Salisbury. 
 Would he were dead ! I have lost all love for him. 
 If God would take him in some sudden way — 
 Would he were dead. 
 
 De Tracy. \_Entering.'\ My liege, the Queen of 
 
 England. 
 Henry. God's eyes ! 
 
 Enter Eleanor. 
 
 Eleanor. Of England ? Say of Aquitaine. 
 
 I am no Queen of England. I had dream'd 
 I was the bride of England, and a queen. 
 
 Henry. And, — while you dream'd you were the bride 
 of England, — 
 Stirring her baby-king against me ? ha ! 
 
 Eleanor. I dream'd I was the consort of a king, 
 Not one whose back his priest has broken. 
 The brideless Becket is thy king and mine. 
 
 Henry. Methought I had recover'd of the Becket. 
 What game, what juggle, what devilry are you playing ? 
 Why do you thrust this Becket on me again ? 
 
 Eleanor. Why ? for I am true wife, and have my fears 
 Lest Becket thrust you even from your throne. 
 Do you know this cross, my liege ? 
 
 Henry. [Turning his head.'] Away! Not L
 
 526 BECKET. 
 
 Eleanor. Not ev'n the central diamond, worth, I think, 
 Half of the Antioch whence I had it. 
 
 Henry. That ? 
 
 Eleanor. I gave it you, and you your paramour ; 
 She sends it back, as being dead to earth. 
 So dead henceforth to you. 
 
 Henry. Dead ! you have murder'd her, 
 
 Found out her secret bower and murder'd her. 
 
 Eleanor. Your Becket knew the secret of your bower. 
 
 Henry. {Calling out.'] Ho there! thy rest of life is 
 hopeless prison. 
 
 Eleanor. First, free thy captive from /ter hopeless 
 prison. 
 Will you have this again ? 
 
 {Offering the cross. He dashes it down. 
 St. Cupid, that is too irreverent. 
 Then mine once more. {Puts it on. 
 
 Your cleric hath your lady. 
 Hath used the full authority of his Church 
 To put her into Godstow nunnery. 
 
 Henry. To put her into Godstow nunnery! 
 He dared not— liar ! yet, yet I remember — 
 I do remember. 
 
 He bad me put her into a nunnery — 
 Into Godstow, into Hellstow, Devils tow I 
 
 Eleanor. Aha! 
 
 Enter the four Knights. 
 
 Henry. Sluggards and fools! 
 The slave that eat my bread has kick'd his King I 
 The dog I cramm'd with dainties worried me ! 
 The fellow that on a lame jade came to court, 
 A ragged cloak for saddle — he, he, he —
 
 NOTES. 527 
 
 I'll have her out again, he shall absolve 
 
 The bishops — they but did my will — not you — 
 
 Sluggards and fools, why do you stand and stare ? 
 
 You are no King's men — you — you — you are Becket's 
 
 men. 
 Down with King Henry! up with the Archbishop ! 
 Will no man free me from this pestilent priest? \Exit. 
 
 {The Knights draw their swords. 
 
 Eleanor. Are ye King's men? I am King's woman, I. 
 
 The Knights. King's men! King's men! 
 
 Scene 2. — A Room in Canterbury Monastery. 
 
 Becket and John of Salisbury. 
 
 John of Salisbury. Thomas, I would thou had'st 
 return'd to England 
 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. 
 
 Enter Rosamund. 
 
 Rosamund. Can I speak with you 
 
 Alone, my father? 
 
 Becket. Come you to confess ? 
 
 Rosamund. Not now. 
 
 Becket. Then speak ; this is my other self. 
 
 Who like my conscience never lets me be. 
 
 Rosamund. I know him ; our good John of Salisbury. 
 
 Becket. Breaking already from thy noviciate 
 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.
 
 528 BECKET. 
 
 Rosamund. Small peace was mine in my noviciate, 
 father. 
 Thro' all closed doors a dreadful whisper crept 
 That thou would'st excommunicate the King. 
 My lord, you have not excommunicated him? 
 Oh, if you have, absolve him ! 
 
 Becket. Daughter, daughter, 
 
 Deal not with things you know not. 
 
 Rosamund. I know him. 
 
 John of Salisbury. No, daughter, you mistake our 
 good Archbishop ; 
 He thought to excommunicate him — Thomas, 
 You could not — old affection mastered 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 excommunicate him now? 
 
 Becket. Daughter, my time is short, I shall not do it. 
 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 nunnery with all haste ; 
 Let this be thy last trespass. But one question- 
 How fares thy pretty boy, the little Geoffrey? 
 Doth he remember me ? 
 
 Rosamund. I warrant him. 
 
 Becket. He is marvellously like thee. 
 
 Rosamund. Liker the King. 
 
 Becket. No, daughter.
 
 NO TES. 529 
 
 Rosamund. Ay, but wait. 
 
 He will be very king. 
 
 Becket. Ev'n so : but think not of the King : fare- 
 well! 
 
 Rosamund. My lord, the city is full of armed men. 
 
 Becket. Ev'n so : farewell ! 
 
 Rosamund. I will but pass to vespers 
 
 And breathe one prayer for my Uege-Iord the King, 
 His child and mine own soul, and so return. 
 
 Becket. Pray for me too : much need of prayer have I. 
 
 [Rosamund kneels mid goes. 
 
 John of Salisbury. What noise was that? 
 
 Becket. I once was out with Henry in the days 
 When Henry loved me, and we came upon 
 A wild-fowl sitting on her nest, so still 
 I reach'd my hand and touch'd ; she did not stir ; 
 The snow had frozen round her, and she sat 
 Stone-dead upon a heap of ice-cold eggs. 
 Look! how this love, this mother, runs thro' all 
 The world God made — even the beast — the bird! 
 
 John of Salisbury. Ay, still a lover of the beast and 
 bird? 
 But these arm'd men — will you not hide yourself? 
 
 Becket. There was a little fair-hair'd Norman maid 
 Lived in my mother's house : if Rosamund is 
 The world's rose, as her name imports her — she 
 Was the world's lily. 
 
 John of Salisbury. Ay, and what of her? 
 
 Becket. She died of leprosy. 
 
 John of Salisbury. I know not why 
 
 You call these old things back again, my lord. 
 
 Becket. The drowning man, they say, remembers all 
 The chances of his Ufe. just ere he dies. 
 
 VOL. VI. 2M
 
 530 BECKET. 
 
 John of Salisbury. Ay — but these arm'd men — will 
 you drown yourself 1 
 He loses half the meed of martyrdom 
 Who will be martyr when he might escape. 
 
 Becket. What day of the week? Tuesday? 
 
 John of Salisbury. Tuesday, my lord. 
 
 Becket. On a Tuesday was I born, and on a Tuesday 
 Baptized ; and on a Tuesday came to me 
 The ghostly warning of my martyrdom ; 
 And on a Tuesday 
 
 Tracy enters, iheti Fitzurse, De Brito, aftd 
 De Morville. Mo^ks following. 
 
 — on a Tuesday Tracy 
 
 A long silence, broken by Fitzurse, sayifig, 
 contemptuously, 
 
 God help thee! 
 My lord, we bring a message from the King 
 Beyond the water ; will you have it alone, 
 Or with these listeners near you ? 
 
 Becket. As you will. 
 
 Fitzurse. Nay, zsyou will. 
 Becket. Nay, as_y£7?< will. 
 
 John of Salisbury. Why then 
 
 Better perhaps to speak with them apart. 
 Let us withdraw. 
 
 [All go out except the fo2ir Knights and Becket. 
 Fitzurse. We are all alone with him. 
 
 Shall I not smite him with his own cross-staff ? 
 
 De Morville. No, look! the door is open: let him 
 
 be. 
 Fitzurse. The King condemns your excommunicat-
 
 NOTES. 531 
 
 Becket. This is no secret, but a public matter, 
 In here again! 
 
 [John of Salisbury and Monks return. 
 Now, sirs, the King's commands! 
 
 FiTZURSE. The King commands you to absolve the 
 bishops 
 Whom you have excommunicated. 
 
 Becket. I ? 
 
 Not I, the Pope. Ask him for absolution. 
 
 FiTZURSE. But you advised the Pope. 
 
 Becket. And so I did. 
 
 They have but to submit. 
 
 The Four Knights. The King commands you. 
 We are all King's men. 
 
 Becket. King's men at least should know 
 
 That their own King closed with me last July 
 That I should pass the censures of the Church 
 On those that crown'd young Henry in this realm, 
 And trampled on the rights of Canterbury. 
 
 FiTZURSE. What! dare you charge the King with 
 treachery ? 
 
 Becket. I spake no word of treachery, Reginald. 
 Nay, you yourself were there : you heard yourself. 
 
 FiTZURSE. I was not there. 
 
 Becket. I saw you there. 
 
 FiTZURSE. I was not. 
 
 Becket. You were. I never forget anything. 
 
 FiTZURSE. He makes the King a traitor, me a liar. 
 How long shall we forbear him ? [Knights crowd round. 
 
 Becket. Ye think to scare me from my loyalty 
 To God and to the Holy Father. No ! 
 Tho' all the swords in England flash'd above me 
 Ready to fall at Henry's word or yours —
 
 532 BECKET. 
 
 Tho' all the loud-lung'd trumpets upon earth 
 
 Blared from the heights of all the thrones of her kings, 
 
 Blowing the world against me, I would stand 
 
 Clothed with the full authority of Rome, 
 
 Mail'd in the perfect panoply of faith, 
 
 First of the foremost of their files, who die 
 
 For God, to people heaven in the great day 
 
 When God makes up His jewels. 
 
 De Morville. Know you not 
 
 You have spoken to the peril of your life? 
 
 Becket. As I shall speak again. 
 
 FiTZURSE, De Tracy, and De Brito. To arms! 
 
 {They rush out, De Morville lingers. 
 
 Becket. De Morville, 
 
 I had thought so well of you ; and even now 
 You seem the least assassin of the four. 
 Oh, do not damn yourself for company! 
 Is it too late for me to save your soul ? 
 I pray you for one moment stay and speak. 
 
 De Morville. Becket, it is too late. {Exit. 
 
 Becket. Is it too late? 
 
 Too late on earth may be too soon in hell. 
 
 Knights. [/« the distance.'\ Close the great gate — ho, 
 there — upon the town. 
 
 Becket's Retainers. Shut the hall-doors. {A pause. 
 
 John of Salisbury. You should have taken counsel 
 with your friends 
 Before these bandits brake into your presence. 
 They seek — you make — occasion for your death. 
 
 Becket. My counsel is already taken, John. 
 I am prepared to die. 
 
 John of Salisbury. We are sinners all. 
 The best of all not all-prepared to die.
 
 NOTES. 533 
 
 Becket. God's will be done ! 
 
 John of Salisbury. Ay, well. God's will be done ! 
 
 Grim. \_Re-entering.'\ My lord, the knights are arming 
 in the garden 
 Beneath the sycamore. 
 
 Becket. Good ! let them arm. 
 
 Grim. And one of the De Brocs is with them, — Robert, 
 The apostate monk that was with Randulf here. 
 He knows the twists and turnings of the place. 
 
 Becket. No fear ! 
 
 Grim. No fear, my lord. 
 
 {Crashes on the hall-doors. The Monks y?£'^. 
 
 Becket. {Rising.'\ Our dovecote flown ! 
 
 I cannot tell why monks should all be cowards. 
 
 John of Salisbury. Take refuge in your own cathe- 
 dral, Thomas. 
 
 Becket. Do they not fight the Great Fiend day by 
 day ? 
 Valour and holy life should go together. 
 Why should all monks be cowards ! 
 
 John of Salisbury. Are they so ? 
 
 I say, take refuge in your own cathedral. 
 
 \_Bell rings for vespers till end of scene. 
 
 Grim. Vespers are beginning. 
 You should attend the office, give them heart. 
 They fear you slain : they dread they know not what. 
 
 Becket. Ay, monks, not men. 
 
 Grim. I am a monk, my lord. 
 
 Perhaps, my lord, you wrong us. 
 Some would stand by you to the death. 
 
 Becket. Your pardon. 
 
 John of Salisbury. He said, "Attend the office." 
 
 Becket. Attend the office ?
 
 534 BECKET. 
 
 Why then — The Cross ! — who bears my Cross before me ? 
 Methought they would have brain'd me with it, John. 
 
 [Grim takes it. 
 
 Grim. I ! Would that I could bear thy cross indeed ! 
 
 Becket. The Mitre ! 
 
 John of Salisbury. Will you wear it ? there ! 
 
 Becket. The Pall ! 
 
 I go to meet my King ! \Puts on the pall. Exeunt. 
 
 Scene 3. — North Transept of Canterbury Cathedral. On 
 the right hand a flight of steps leading to the Choir., 
 another flight on the left, leading to the North Aisle. 
 Winter afternoon slowly darkening. Monks heard 
 chantitig the service. Rosamund kneeling. 
 
 Rosamund. O blessed saint, O glorious Benedict, — 
 These armM men in the city, these fierce faces — 
 Thy holy follower founded Canterbury, 
 Save that dear head which now is Canterbury, 
 Save him, he saved my life, he saved my child, 
 Save him, his blood would darken Henry's name ; 
 Save him till, all as saintly as thyself. 
 He miss the searching flame of purgatory. 
 And pass at once perfect to Paradise. 
 
 \_Noise of steps and voices in the cloisters. 
 Hark ! Is it they ? Coming ! He is not here — 
 Not yet, thank heaven. O save him ! 
 
 [ Goes up steps leading to choir. 
 
 Becket {entering, forced along by John of Salisbury 
 
 and Grim). 
 
 Becket. No, I tell you !
 
 NOTES. 535 
 
 I cannot bear a hand upon my person, 
 Why do you force me thus against my will ? 
 
 Grim. My lord, we force you from your enemies. 
 Becket. As you would force a king from being crown'd. 
 \Service stops. Monks come down from the 
 stairs that lead to the choir. 
 Monks. Here is the great Archbishop ! He lives ! 
 
 he Hves ! 
 Becket. Back, I say! 
 Go on with the office. Shall not Heaven be served 
 Tho' earth's last earthquake clashed the minster-bells, 
 And the great deeps were broken up again, 
 And hiss'd against the sun? {^IVoise in the cloisters. 
 
 Monks. The murderers, hark! 
 
 Let us hide! let us hide! 
 
 Becket. What do these people fear? 
 Grim. Those arm'd men in the cloister. 
 Becket. Be not such cravens ! 
 
 I will go out and meet them. 
 
 Grim AND others. Shut the doors! 
 
 We will not have him slain before our face. 
 
 [ They close the doors of the transept. 
 Knocking. 
 Fly, fly, my lord, before they burst the doors ! 
 
 {Knocking. 
 Becket. Why, these are our own monks who follow'd 
 us! 
 And will you bolt them out, and have thetn slain? 
 Undo the doors : the church is not a castle : 
 Stand by, make way! 
 
 \_Opens the doors. Enter Monks from cloister. 
 Monks. A score of knights all arm'd with syvords and 
 axes —
 
 536 BECKET. 
 
 To the choir, to the choir ! 
 
 [Monks divide, part flying by the stairs on the 
 right, part by those on the left. The rush 
 of these last bears Becket along with 
 them some way up the steps, where he is 
 left standing alone. 
 John of Salisbury. No, to the crypt ! 
 
 Grim. To the crypt ? no — no, 
 To the chapel of St. Blaise beneath the roof ! 
 
 Becket. Oh, no, not either way, nor any way 
 Save by that way which leads thro' night to light. 
 
 Enter the four Knights. John of Salisbury flies to 
 the altar of St. Benedict. 
 
 Fitzurse. Here, here, King's men ! 
 
 {Catches hold of the last flying Monk. 
 Where is the traitor Becket ? 
 
 Becket. Here. 
 
 No traitor to the King, but Priest of God, 
 Primate of England. {Descending into the transept. 
 
 I am he ye seek. 
 What would ye have of me? 
 
 Fitzurse. Your life. 
 
 De Tracy. Your life. 
 
 De Morville. Save that you will absolve the bishops. 
 
 Becket. Never,— 
 
 Except they make submission to the Church. 
 You had my answer to that cry before. 
 
 De Morville. Why, then you are a dead man ; flee ! 
 
 Becket. I will not. 
 
 I am readier to be slain, than thou to slay. 
 Hugh, I know well thou hast but half a heart 
 To bathe this sacred pavement with my blood.
 
 NOTES. 
 
 537 
 
 God pardon thee and these, but God's full curse 
 Shatter you all to pieces if ye harm 
 One of my flock! 
 
 FiTZURSE. Seize him and carry him! 
 
 Come with us — nay — thou art our prisoner — come ! 
 
 [FiTZURSE lays Jiold of the Arch- 
 bishop's pall. 
 Becket. Down ! 
 
 \Throws him headlong. 
 De Morville. Ay, make him prisoner, do not harm 
 
 the man. 
 FiTZURSE. {^Advances with drawn sword.] I told thee 
 
 that I should remember thee! 
 Becket. Profligate pander! 
 
 FiTZURSE. Do you hear that? strike, strike. 
 
 [Strikes the Archbishop, and wounds 
 him in the forehead. 
 Becket. [Covers his eyes with his hand.] I do com- 
 mend my cause to God. 
 FiTZURSE. Strike him, Tracy! 
 
 Rosamund. [Rushing down steps from the choir. '\ No, 
 No, No, No! 
 
 Mercy, mercy, 
 As you would hope for mercy. 
 
 FiTZURSE. Strike, I say. 
 
 Grim. O God, O noble knights, O sacrilege! 
 FiTZURSE. Strike! 
 
 De Tracy. There is my answer then. 
 
 [Sword falls on Grim's arm and glances 
 from it, wounding Becket. 
 De Brito. This last to rid thee of a world of brawls! 
 Becket. [Falling on his knees. '\ Into Thy hands, O 
 Lord, into Thy hands ! [Sinks prone.
 
 538 BECKET. 
 
 De Brito. The traitor's dead, and will arise no more. 
 [De Brito, De Tracy, Fitzurse, rush out, 
 crying '■'■ King's men I'''' De Morville 
 follows slowly. Flashes of lightning thro'' 
 the Cathedral > Rosamund seen kneeling 
 by the body of Becket. 
 
 1 [A tremendous thunderstorm actually broke over the Cathedral as 
 the murderers were leaving it. 
 
 Mr. Walter Pollock records in his Impressions of Irving, p. 138 : 
 " As regards Becket, I have said before that the play and the part had 
 a strange influence over Irving. It was not to me, but to my wife 
 that he once said that no dramatic poetry and no character had ever 
 so influenced him. ... ' You know,' my wife said, ' that people talk 
 of your having "made" the play." His reply was emphatic: 'No, 
 no," he said, ' the play made me. It changed my whole view of life.' " 
 —Ed.]
 
 NOTES ON THE FALCON. 
 
 /. 221. The Falcon. [First published in 1884. — Ed.] 
 Founded on a story in Boccaccio (the ninth 
 novel of the fifth day of the Decameron), and 
 produced by Mr. and Mrs. Kendal at the 
 St. James' Theatre, who played it for sixty- 
 seven nights. 
 
 [Hazlitt first suggested the story as suitable 
 for stage treatment. Fanny Kemble called the 
 play " an exquisite little idyll in action like 
 one of A. de Musset's." Mrs. Brotherton 
 writes to me : " Well do I remember your 
 father reading The Falcon to me (still in MS.), 
 in a little attic at Farringford. The ivy out- 
 side was blowing against the casement like 
 pattering rain, all the time. When he had 
 finished he softly closed the simple 'copy- 
 book ' it was written in, and said softly, 
 * Stately and tender, isn't it? ' exactly as if he 
 were commenting on another man's work — 
 and no more just comment could have come 
 from the whole world of critics." — Ed.] 
 539
 
 NOTES ON THE FORESTERS. 
 By the Editor. 
 
 [Written eleven years before publication in 1881. 
 First published and performed in 1892. 
 
 On March 25th The Foresters was produced at New 
 York by Daly, the incidental music being by Sir Arthur 
 Sullivan. It gave my father great pleasure to hear that 
 American people were " appreciative of the fancy and of 
 the beauty, and especially of the songs and of the wise 
 sayings about life in which the woodland play abounds." ^ 
 The houses were packed and the play had a long and 
 most successful run. 
 
 Before the production my father wrote to Daly : 
 
 I wish you all success with my Robin Hood and Maid 
 Marian. From what I know of Miss Ada Rehan I am 
 sure that she will play her part to perfection, and I am 
 certain that under your management, with the music by 
 one so popular as Sir Arthur Sullivan, with the costumes 
 fashioned after the old designs in the British Museum, 
 with the woodland scenes taken from Mr. Whymper's 
 beautiful pictures of the Sherwood of to-day, my play will 
 be produced to advantage both in America and in England. 
 
 1 Jowett. 
 541
 
 542 THE FORESTERS. 
 
 I am told that your company is good, and that Mr. Jefferson 
 once belonged to it. When he was in England, I saw 
 him play Rip Van Wmkle, and assuredly nothing could 
 have been better. 
 
 With all cordial greetings to my American friends, I 
 remain faithfully yours, Tennyson. 
 
 And he received the following from Miss Ada Rehan : 
 
 Let me add my congratulations to the many on the 
 success of The Foresters. I cannot tell you how de- 
 lighted I was when I felt and saw, from the first, the joy 
 it was giving to our large audience. Its charm is felt by 
 all. Let me thank you for myself for the honour of 
 playing your Maid Marian, which I have learned to 
 love, for while I am playing the part I feel all its beauty 
 and simplicity and sweetness, which make me feel for the 
 time a happier and a better woman. I am indeed proud 
 of its great success for your sake as well as my own. 
 
 P.S. — The play is now one week old, and each audience 
 has been larger than the last and all as sympathetic as 
 the first. 
 
 And Professor Jebb wrote : 
 
 Being here on my way to the Johns Hopkins University 
 at Baltimore, where I have some Lectures to give, I 
 naturally went to see T/ie Foresters at Augustin Daly''s 
 last night. The Theatre, which is of moderate size, was 
 densely packed, and as 1 had not engaged my seat by 
 cablegram from Liverpool, I bore no resemblance, in 
 respect of spacious comfort, to the ideal spectator, the 
 masher or " dude," depicted on the play-bill which I send 
 you by this post. I was a highly compressed and squalid
 
 NOTES. 543 
 
 object in a back seat, amid a seething mass of humanity, 
 but I saw the play very well. It was very cordially 
 received and was well acted, I thought, especially by Ada 
 Rehan and Drew. The fairy scene in the third Act was 
 perfectly lovely, and the lyrics were everywhere beautifully 
 given. The mounting of the play was excellent throughout. 
 
 The criticism of The Foresters which pleased my 
 father most was in a letter addressed to Lady Martin 
 (Miss Helen Faucit) by the eminent Shakespearian 
 scholar, Mr. Horace Furness of Philadelphia, when the 
 piece was being performed in New York : 
 
 After dinner we went to see The Foresters. Men 
 and women — of a different time, to be sure, but none too 
 good "for human nature's daily food" — live their idyllic 
 lives before you, and you feel that all is good, very good. 
 The atmosphere is so real, and we fall into it so com- 
 pletely, that, Americans though we be through and through, 
 we can listen with hearty assent to the chorus that " There 
 is no land like England," and that "There are no wives 
 like English wives." Nay, come to think of it, that song 
 was encored. It was charming, charming from beginning 
 to end. And Miss Rehan acted to perfection. I had to 
 leave in the midnight train for home, and during two 
 hours' driving through the black night, I smoked and 
 reflected on the unalloyed charm of such a drama. And 
 to see the popularity, too ! It had been running many 
 weeks— six, I think — and the theatre was full, not a seat 
 unoccupied. I do revel, I confess, in such a proof as this 
 that there will always be a full response to what is fine and 
 good, and that the modern sensational French drama is not 
 our true exponent.
 
 544 THE FORESTERS. 
 
 p. 302. (Act I. Sc. iii.) To Sleep. First published in 
 New Revieiv, 1891, and set to music by 
 my mother. (See Mile. Janotha's edition 
 of Lady Tennyson's songs, published by 
 Novello.) 
 
 p. 319. line I. (Act 11. Sc. i.) wickentree, mountain-ash. 
 
 /. 339. Act II. Sc. ii. ad finem. The wJiole stage lights 
 tip, and fairies are seefi swinging on boughs 
 and nestling in hollow trunks, etc. 
 
 My father said to Mr. Daly : " I don't care 
 for The Foresters as I do for Becket and 
 Harold. Irving suggested the fairies in my 
 Robin Hood, else I should not have dreamed 
 of trenching on Shakespeare's ground in that 
 way. Then Irving wrote to me that the play 
 was not ' sensational ' enough for an English 
 public. It is a woodland play — a pastoral 
 without shepherds. The great stage-drama 
 is wholly unlike most of the drama of modern 
 times. I do not like the idea of every scene 
 being obliged to end with a bang.'' About 
 " There is no land like England," he added, 
 " I wrote that song when I was nineteen. It 
 has a beastly chorus against the French, and 
 I must alter that if you will have it." 
 
 My father recommended Daly to look at 
 Whymper's pictures of Sherwood Forest, 
 which he straightway bought in order that 
 they might be copied for the scenes.
 
 NOTES. 545 
 
 P' 357- (Act III. Sc. i.) torretits of eddying bark. I 
 heard my father first use these words about 
 the great trunks of the Spanish chestnuts in 
 Cowdray Park near Midhurst. He and I 
 stayed in Sherwood Forest in 1881, at the 
 time when he was writing The Foresters. 
 
 pp. 366, 367. (Act III. Sc. i.) [Instead of the short 
 scene between Robin and Marian, beginning 
 " Honour to thee, brave Marian," to " my 
 will, and made it thine," my father had written 
 in the first proof of the play the following 
 lively and charming scene, which he cut out 
 when Miss Mary Anderson was to have acted 
 Marian : ^ — 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Honour to thee, brave Marian, and thy Kate. 
 
 I know them arrant knaves in Nottingham. 
 
 One half of this shall go to those that they have 
 
 wrong'd, 
 One half shall pass into our treasury. 
 
 Marian. 
 
 My father has none with him. See to him, Kate. 
 
 [ Exit Kate. 
 Robin. 
 
 Where lies that cask of wine whereof we plunder'd 
 The Norman prelate? 
 
 1 She fell ill and left the stage, else she was to have played in 
 The Foresters and The Cup. 
 
 VOL. VI. 2 N
 
 546 THE FORESTERS. 
 
 Little John. 
 
 In that oak, were twelve 
 Can stand upright, nor touch each other.' 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Good! 
 Roll it in here. These beggars and these friars 
 Shall drink the health of our new woodland Queen. 
 
 \_Exeunt Robin's fnen. 
 (To Marian) And now that thou hast triumph'd as our 
 
 Queen, 
 I have a mind to embrace thee as our Queen. 
 
 Marian (frantically). 
 
 Quiet, Robin, quiet. You lovers are such summer 
 flies, always buzzing at the face of your lady. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Say rather we are bees that fly to the flower for 
 honey. 
 
 Marian. 
 
 Your soul should worship her soul, your heart her 
 heart, and all your thoughts should be higher-winged in 
 the spiritual heaven of love. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Ay, but we lovers are not cherubim, wings and no 
 
 more. 
 
 1 The oak described here was standing in Sherwood Forest when 
 we visited it in 1881.
 
 NOTES. 
 
 Marian. 
 
 547 
 
 True, Robin, thou art plump enough for my robin, 
 but thy face is too gaunt for a cherub's. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 Yet I would I were a winged cherub, that I might 
 fly and hide myself in thy bosom. 
 
 Marian. 
 
 Ay, but, cherub, if thou flewest so close as that, I 
 should fly like the maid in the heathen fable when the 
 would-be god lost his nymph in the wood. 
 
 Robin. 
 What was she ? 
 
 Marian. 
 I forget. The Maid Marian of these times belike. 
 
 Robin. 
 And how did he lose her? 
 
 Marian. 
 
 As many men lose many women if they fly too near 
 — as thou mayest lose me in this forest. She turned 
 herself into a laurel. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 I would have gathered the leaves, and made a crown 
 
 of it. 
 
 Marian. 
 
 And the laurel would have withered in a day, and 
 the nymph would have been dead wood to thee for ever.
 
 548 THE FORESTERS. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 No, no ; I would have clasped and kissed, and 
 warmed the dead wood till it broke again into living 
 leaf. 
 
 Marian. 
 
 Well, well, to tell love's truth, I sighed for a touch 
 of thy lips a year ago, but the Sheriff has come between 
 us. Is it not all over now — gone like a deer that hath 
 escaped from thine arrow? 
 
 Robin. 
 
 What deer, when I have marked him, ever escaped 
 from mine arrow? The Sheriff — over is it? Wilt thou 
 give me thy hand upon that? 
 
 Marian. 
 
 Take it. 
 
 Robin. 
 
 The Sheriff ! [ Kisses her hand. 
 
 This ring cries out against thee. Say it again. 
 And by this ring, the lips that never breathed 
 Love's falsehood to true maid will seal love's truth 
 On those sweet lips that dare to dally with it. 
 
 Ed.]
 
 CROSSING THE BAR
 
 Vti/lfU M*^ h4)M- 
 
 i^A^ t^ fUA ^ nf^^-' 

 
 INDICES.
 
 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 
 
 A city clerk, but gently born and bred, i. 497. 
 
 Act first, this Earth, a stage so gloom'd with woe, iv. 508. 
 
 Ah God ! the petty fools of rhyme, i. 595. 
 
 Airy, fairy Lilian, i. 21. 
 
 All along the valley, stream that flashest white, i. 582. 
 
 All precious things, discover'd late, i. 374. 
 
 Altho' I be the basest of mankind, i. 304. 
 
 And on her lover's arm she leant, i. 378. 
 
 And Willy, my eldest-born, is gone, you say, little Anne ? i. 549. 
 
 A plague upon the people fell, i. 596. 
 
 Are you sleeping ? have you forgotten ? do not sleep, my sister dear ! 
 
 iv. 299. 
 A spirit haunts the year's last hours, i. 54. 
 A still small voice spake unto me, i. 122. 
 A storm was coming, but the winds were still, iii. 182. 
 As when with downcast eyes we muse and brood, i. 103. 
 At Flores in the Azores Sir Richard Grenville lay, iv. 121. 
 At Francis Allen's on the Christmas-eve, i. 253. 
 Athelstan King, iv. 235. 
 
 A thousand summers ere the time of Christ, iv. 287. 
 A touch, a kiss I the charm was snapt, i. 376. 
 ■At times our Britain cannot rest, iv. 401. 
 A Voice spake out of the skies, v. 89. 
 
 Banner of England, not for a season, O banner of Britain, hast thou, 
 
 iv. 174. 
 ' Beat, little heart — I give you this and this,' iv. 494. 
 Beautiful city, the centre and crater of European confusion, iv. 507. 
 Below the thunders of the upper deep, i. 19. 
 Be merry, all birds, to-day, i. 627. 
 Be thou a-gawin' to the long barn ? v. 167. 
 Birds' love and birds' song, i. 624. 
 Break, break, break, i. 452. 
 
 Brooks, for they call'd you so that knew you best, iv. 229. 
 Bury the Great Duke, i. 523. 
 
 555
 
 556 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 
 
 Caress'd or chidden by the slender hand, i. 109. 
 
 Chains, my good lord : in your raised brows I read, iv. 196. 
 
 Clear-headed friend, whose joyful scorn, i, 34. 
 
 Clearly the blue river chimes in its flowing, i. 7. 
 
 Come not, when I am dead, i. 433. 
 
 Come, when no graver cares employ, i. 577. 
 
 Comrades, leave me here a little, while as yet 'tis early morn, i. 347. 
 
 ' Courage ! ' he said, and pointed toward the land, i. 204. 
 
 Dagonet, the fool, whom Gawain in his mood, iii. 340. 
 
 Dainty little maiden, whither would you wander ? i. 591. 
 
 Dead ! iv. 370. 
 
 Dead Princess, living Power, if that, which lived, iv. 172. 
 
 Dear Master in our classic town, v. 5. 
 
 Dear, near and true — no truer Time himself, i. 607. 
 
 Deep on the convent-roof the snows, i. 390. 
 
 Dosn't thou "ear my 'erse's legs, as they canters awaay? i. 565. 
 
 Doubt no longer that the Highest is the wisest and the best, v. 92. 
 
 Dust are our frames ; and, gilded dust, our pride, i. 463. 
 
 Eh ? good daay ! good daay ! thaw it bean't not mooch of a daay, v. 48. 
 
 Elaine the fair, Elaine the loveable, iii. 221. 
 
 Eyes not down-dropt nor over-bright, but fed, i. 23. 
 
 Faint as a climate-changing bird that flies, iv. 410. 
 
 Fair is her cottage in its place, i. 586. 
 
 Fair things are slow to fade away, iv. 409. 
 
 Farewell, Macready, since to-night we part, iv. 514. 
 
 Farewell, whose like on earth I shall not find, iv. 513. 
 
 Fifty times the rose has fiower'd and faded, iv. 405. 
 
 First pledge our Queen this solemn night, iv. 387. 
 
 Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea, i. 429. 
 
 Flower in the crannied wall, i. 606. 
 
 From noiseful arms, and acts of prowess done, iii. 278. 
 
 Full knee-deep lies the winter snow, i. 230. 
 
 Glory of warrior, glory of orator, glory of song, i. 600. 
 Golden-hair'd Ally whose name is one with mine, iv. 85. 
 Gone, i. 622. 
 
 Had the fierce ashes of some fiery peak, v. 14. 
 Half a league, half a league, i. 538.
 
 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 557 
 
 Hallowed be Thy name — Halleluiah ! iv. 227. 
 
 He clasps the crag with crooked hands, i. 431. 
 
 He is fled — I wish him dead — , iv. 458. 
 
 Helen's Tower, here I stand, iv. 382. 
 
 Her arms across her breast she laid, i. 430. 
 
 Here, by this brook, we parted ; I to the East, i. 454. 
 
 Here far away, seen from the topmost cliff, iv. 3. 
 
 Here, it is here, the close of the year, i. 593. 
 
 He rose at dawn and, fired with hope, i. 587. 
 
 Her, that yer Honour was spakin' to ? Whin, yer Honour ? Last 
 
 year — , iv. 310. 
 He that only rules by terror, i. 414. 
 He thought to quell the stubborn hearts of oak, i. 107. 
 Hide me. Mother ! my Fathers belong'd to the church of old, iv. 263, 
 How long, O God, shall men be ridden down, i. 108. 
 
 I built my soul a lordly pleasure-house, i. 172. 
 
 If I were loved, as I desire to be, i. 112. 
 
 I had a vision when the night was late, i. 437. 
 
 I hate the dreadful hollow behind the little wood, ii. 145. 
 
 I knew an old wife lean and poor, i. 250. 
 
 Illyrian woodlands, echoing falls, i. 450. 
 
 I'm glad I walk'd. How fresh the meadows look, i. 292. 
 
 In her ear he whispers gaily, i. 417. 
 
 1 read, before my eyelids dropt their shade, i. 213. 
 
 I see the wealthy miller yet, i. 145. 
 
 I send you here a sort of allegory, i. 171. 
 
 Is it you, that preach'd in the chapel there looking over the sand ? 
 
 iv. 276. 
 It little profits that an idle king, i. 339. 
 It was the time that lilies blow, i. 409. 
 I waited for the train at Coventry, i. 364. 
 
 I was the chief of the race — he had stricken my father dead, iv. 209. 
 I wish I were as in the years of old, iv. 254. 
 
 King Arthur made new knights to fill the gap, iii. 315, 
 King, that hast reign'd six hundred years, and grown, iv. 248. 
 
 Lady Clara Vere de Vere, i. 187. 
 
 Late, my grandson! half the morning have I paced these sandy 
 tracts, iv. 331.
 
 558 
 
 INDEX OF FIRST FINES. 
 
 Leodogran, the King of Cameliard, iii. 4. 
 
 Life and Thought have gone away, i. 65. 
 
 ' Light of the nations,' ask'd his chronicler, v. 20. 
 
 Light, so low upon earth, i. 629. 
 
 Like souls that balance joy and pain, i. 426. 
 
 Live thy Life, iv. 512. 
 
 Lo ! there once more — this is the seventh night ! v. 489. 
 
 Long lines of cliff breaking have left a chasm, ii. 233. 
 
 Love thou thy land, with love far-brought, i. 243. 
 
 Low-flowing breezes are roaming the broad valley dimm'd in the 
 
 gloaming, i. 9. 
 Lucilia, wedded to Lucretius, found, i. 511. 
 
 Many a hearth upon our dark globe sighs after many a vanish'd 
 
 face, iv. 429. 
 Many, many welcomes, iv. 510. 
 Mellow moon of heaven, iv. 434. 
 Midnight — in no midsummer tune, iv. 379. 
 
 Milk for my sweet-arts, Bess! fur it mun be the time about now, iv. 320. 
 Mine be the strength of spirit, full and free, i. 105. 
 Minnie and Winnie, i. 592. 
 Move eastward, happy earth, and leave, i. 432. 
 My father left a park to me, i. 385. 
 
 My friend should meet me somewhere hereabovit, iv. 185. 
 My good blade carves the casques of men, i. 392. 
 My heart is wasted with my woe, i. 73. 
 My hope and heart is with thee — thou wilt be, i. 104. 
 My life is full of weary days, i. loi. 
 My Lords, we heard you speak : you told us all, i. 535. 
 My Rosalind, my Rosalind, i.91. 
 Mystery of mysteries, i. 84. 
 
 Naay, noa mander o' use to be callin' "im Roa,Roa, Roa, iv. 417. 
 
 Nature, so far as in her lies, i. 237. 
 
 Nightingales warbled without, i. 583. 
 
 Not here! the white North has thy bones; and thou, iv. 247. 
 
 Not this way will you set your name, iv. 363. 
 
 Now first we stand and understand, v. 78. 
 
 Now is done thy long day's work, i. 69. 
 
 O blackbird ! sing me something well, i. 228. 
 
 O Bridesmaid, ere the happy knot was tied, i. 113.
 
 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 559 
 
 CEnone sat within the cave from out, v. 7. 
 
 Of love that never found his earthly close, i. 330. 
 
 Of old sat Freedom on the heights, i. 241. 
 
 O God! my God! have mercy now, i. 11. 
 
 O great and gallant Scott, v. 41. 
 
 O Lady Flora, let me speak, i. 368. 
 
 Old Fitz, who from your suburb grange, iv. 251. 
 
 Old poets foster'd under friendlier skies, iv. 398. 
 
 O Love, Love, Love ! O withering might ! i. 156. 
 
 O love, what hours were thine and mine, i. 571. 
 
 O loyal to the royal in thyself, iii. 419. 
 
 O me, my pleasant rambles by the lake, i. 297. 
 
 O mighty-mouth'd inventor of harmonies, i. 616. 
 
 On a midnight in midwinter when all but the winds were dead, v. 75. 
 
 Once in a golden hour, i. 584. 
 
 Once more the gate behind me falls, i. 314. 
 
 Once more the Heavenly Power, iv. 376. 
 
 On either side the river lie, i. 114. 
 
 O Patriot Statesman, be thou wise to know, iv. 386. 
 
 O plump head-waiter at The Cock, i. 398. 
 
 O purblind race of miserable men, iii. 119. 
 
 O sweet pale Margaret, i. 87. 
 
 O thou so fair in summers gone, iv. 389. 
 
 O thou, that sendest out the man, i. 248. 
 
 Our birches yellowing and from each, iv. 357. 
 
 Our doctor had call'd in another, I never had seen him before, iv. 163. 
 
 'Ouse-keeper sent tha my lass, fur New Squire coom'd last night, iv. i48_ 
 
 Out of the deep, my child, out of the deep, iv. 223. 
 
 O well for him whose will is strong ! i. 580. 
 
 O you chorus of indolent reviewers, i. 617. 
 
 O young Mariner, iv. 488. 
 
 O you that were eyes and light to the King till he past away, iv. 246. 
 
 Pellam the King, who held and lost with Lot, iii. 158. 
 Pine, beech and plane, oak, walnut, apricot, v. 105. 
 
 Queen Guinevere had fled the court, and sat, iii. 371. 
 
 Ralph would fight in Edith's sight, v. 83. 
 
 Red of the Dawn ! v. 69. 
 
 Revered, beloved — O you that hold, i. i.
 
 56o INDEX OF FIRST IINES. 
 
 Roman Virgil, thou that singest Ilion's lofty temples robed in fire, iv. 367. 
 
 Rose, on this terrace fifty years ago, iv. 508. 
 
 Row us out from Desenzano, to your Sirmione row ! iv. 381. 
 
 Sea-kings' daughter from over the sea, i. 544. 
 
 Sir, do you see this dagger ? nay, why do you start aside ? v. 42. 
 
 Sir Walter Vivian all a summer's day, ii. i. 
 
 Slow sail'd the weary mariners and saw, i. 63. 
 
 So all day long the noise of battle roll'd, i. 256. 
 
 So Hector spake ; the Trojans roar'd applause, i. 618. 
 
 So, Lady Flora, take my lay, i. 380, 384. 
 
 So, my Lord, the Lady Giovanna, vi. 221. 
 
 So saying, light-foot Iris pass'd away, iv. 244. 
 
 So then our good Archbishop Theobald, vi. 5. 
 
 ' Spring-flowers 1 ' While you still delay to take, iv. 477. 
 
 Stand back, keep a clear lane 1 v. 279. 
 
 Still on the tower stood the vane, i. 434. 
 
 Strong Son of God, immortal Love, ii. 283. 
 
 Summer is coming, summer is coming, iv. 511. 
 
 Sun comes, moon comes, i. 628. 
 
 Sunset and evening star, v. 102. 
 
 Sweet Emma Moreland of yonder town, i. 396. 
 
 That story which the bold Sir Bedivere, iii. 399. 
 
 The brave Geraint, a knight of Arthur's court, iii. 85. 
 
 The bridal garland falls upon the bier, v. 100. 
 
 'The Bull, the Fleece are cramm'd, and not a room,' i. 288. 
 
 The charge of the gallant three hundred, the Heavy Brigade ! iv. 359. 
 
 The form, the form alone is eloquent ! i. no. 
 
 The frost is here, i. 623. 
 
 The gleam of household sunshine ends, v. 85. 
 
 The groundflame of the crocus breaks the mould, iv. 482. 
 
 The last tall son of Lot and Bellicent, iii. 25. 
 
 The lights and shadows fly ! i. 620. 
 
 The Lord let the house of a brute to the soul of a man, iv. 503. 
 
 The mist and the rain, the mist and the rain 1 i. 625. 
 
 The plain was grassy, wild and bare, i. 67. 
 
 The poet in a golden clime was born, i. 58. 
 
 The rain had fallen, the poet arose, i. 453. 
 
 There is a sound of thunder afar, v. 81. 
 
 There lies a vale in Ida, lovelier, i. 158.
 
 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 561 
 
 There on the top of the down, v. 3. 
 
 These lame hexameters the strong-wing'd music of Homer I i. 615. 
 
 These roses for my Lady Marian, vi. 269. 
 
 These to his memory — since he held them dear, iii. i. 
 
 The Son of him with whom we strove for power, i. 546. 
 
 The sun, the moon, the stars, the seas, the hills and the plains, i. 60I. 
 
 The varying year with blade and sheaf, i. 369. 
 
 The voice and the Peak, i. 603. 
 
 The winds, as at their hour of birth, i. 20. 
 
 The wind, that beats the mountain, blows, i. 233. 
 
 The woods decay, the woods decay and fall, i. 343. 
 
 They have left the doors ajar; and by their clash, iv. 13a. 
 
 They rose to where their sovran eagle sails, iv. 229. 
 
 This morning is the morning of the day, i. 269. 
 
 This thing, that thing is the rage, v. 87. 
 
 Those that of late had fleeted far and fast, iv. 228. 
 
 Tho" Sin too oft, when smitten by Thy rod, v. 90. 
 
 Thou art not steep'd in golden languors, i. 36. 
 
 Thou third great Canning, stand among our best, iv. 383. 
 
 Thou who stealest fire, i. 48. 
 
 Thy dark eyes open'd not, i. 94. 
 
 Thy prayer was ' Light — more Light — while Time shall lastl ' iv. 385. 
 
 Thy tuwhits are lull'd, I wot, i. 40. 
 
 Two children in two neighbour villages, i. 78. 
 
 Two little hands that meet, i. 626. 
 
 Two Suns of Love make day of human life, iv. 392. 
 
 Ulysses, much-experienced man, iv. 473. 
 Uplift a thousand voices full and sweet, i. 541. 
 
 Vex not thou the poet's mind, i. 61. 
 
 Victor in Drama, Victor in Romance, iv. 230. 
 
 Vine, vine and eglantine, i. 621. 
 
 Waait till our Sally cooms in, fur thou mun a' sights to tell, iv. 107. 
 Wailing, wailing, wailing, the wind over land and sea, iv. 96. 
 ' Wait a little,' you say, ' you are sure it'll all come right,' iv. 85. 
 Wan Sculptor, weepest thou to take the cast, i. in. 
 Warrior of God, man's friend, and tyrant's foe, iv. 384. 
 Warrior of God, whose strong right arm debased, i. 106. 
 Welcome, welcome with one voice ! iv. 395. 
 VOL. VI 20
 
 562 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 
 
 We left behind the painted buoy, i. 421. 
 
 Well, you shall have that song which Leonard wrote, i. 335. 
 
 We move, the wheel must always move, iv. 506. 
 
 We were two daughters of one race, i. 169. 
 
 What am I doing, you say to me, ' wasting the sweet summer hours ' ? 
 
 V.57- 
 What be those crown'd forms high over the sacred fountain ? 
 
 iv. 501. 
 What sight so lured him thro' the fields he knew, iv. 505. 
 What time the mighty moon was gathering light, i. 72. 
 Wheer 'asta bean saw long and mea liggin' 'ere aloan ? i. 559. 
 When cats run home and light is come, i. 39. 
 When from the terrors of Nature a people have fashion'd and worship 
 
 a Spirit of Evil, v. 65. 
 When the breeze of a joyful dawn blew free, i. 41. 
 When the dumb Hour, clothed in black, v. 94. 
 When will the stream be aweary of flowing, i. 5. 
 Where Claribel low lieth, i. 3. 
 Where is another sweet as my sweet, i. 624. 
 Where is one that, bom of woman, altogether can escape, v. 73. 
 While about the shore of Mona those Neronian legionaries, i. 608. 
 While man and woman still are incomplete, iv. 509. 
 ' Whither, O whither, love, shall we go," i. 589. 
 Who would be, i. 79. 
 Who would be, i. 81. 
 
 Why wail you, pretty plover ? and what is it that you fear ? iv. 463. 
 Will my tiny spark of being wholly vanish in your deeps and heights ? 
 
 V. 98. 
 Winds are loud and you are dumb, i. 626. 
 With a half-glance upon the sky, i. 56. 
 With blackest moss the flower-pots, i. 25. 
 With farmer Allan at the farm abode, i. 281. 
 With one black shadow at its feet, i. 29. 
 
 Year after year unto her feet, i. 372. 
 
 You ask me, why, tho' ill at ease, i. 239. 
 
 You make our faults too gross, and thence maintain, iv. 509. 
 
 You might have won the Poet's name, i. 448. 
 
 You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear, i. 191. 
 
 You shake your head. A random string, i. 381. 
 
 You, you, //you shall fail to understand, iv. 393.
 
 INDEX OF POEMS. 
 
 A Character, i. 56. 
 
 Achilles over the Trench, iv. 244. 
 
 A Dedication, i. 607. 
 
 Adeline, i. 84. 
 
 A Dirge, i. 69. 
 
 A Dream of Fair Women, i. 213. 
 
 A Farewell, i. 429. 
 
 Akbar's Dream, v. 20. 
 
 Alexander, i, 106. 
 
 All Things will die, i. 7. 
 
 Amphion, i. 385. 
 
 At the Window, i. 621. 
 
 Audley Court, i. 288. 
 
 A Voice spake out of the Skies, v. 
 89. 
 
 A Welcome to Alexandra, i. 544. 
 
 A Welcome to Her Royal High- 
 ness Marie Alexandrovna, 
 Duchess of Edinburgh, i. 546. 
 
 Ay, i. 627. 
 
 Aylmer's Field, i. 463. 
 
 Balin and Balan, iii. 158. 
 
 Battle of Brunanburh, iv. 235. 
 
 Beautiful City, iv. 507. 
 
 Becket, vi. 5. 
 
 Boadicea, i. 608. 
 
 ' Break, Break, Break,' i. 452. 
 
 Buonaparte, i. 107. 
 
 By an Evolutionist, iv. 503. 
 
 ' Caress'd or chidden by the 
 
 slender Hand,' i. 109. 
 Charity, v. 57. 
 Circumstance, i. 78. 
 Claribel, i. 3. 
 Columbus, iv. 196. 
 ' Come not, when I am dead,' i, 
 
 433- 
 Crossing the Bar, v. 102. 
 
 Dedication to Ballads, iv. 83. 
 Dedication to Idylls of the King, 
 
 iii. I. 
 Dedicatory Poem to the Princess 
 
 Alice, iv. 172. 
 Demeter and Persephone, iv, 410. 
 De Profundis, iv. 223. 
 Despair, iv. 276. 
 Dora, i. 281. 
 Doubt and Prayer, v. 90. 
 
 Early Spring, iv. 376, 
 
 Edward Gray, i. 396. [i. 297. 
 
 Edwin Morris, or, the Lake, 
 
 Eleanore, i. 94. 
 
 England and America in 1782, 
 
 i. 248. 
 Enoch Arden, ii. 233. 
 Epilogue, iv. 463. 
 Epilogue to Day-Dream, i. 384. 
 
 563
 
 564 
 
 INDEX OF POEMS. 
 
 Epitaph on Caxton, iv. 385. 
 Epitaph on General Gordon, 
 
 iv. 384. 
 Epitaph on Lord Stratford de 
 
 Redc'iiffe, iv. 383. 
 Experiments in Quantity, i. 615. 
 
 Faith, V. 92. 
 
 Far — far — away, iv. 505. 
 
 Fatima, i. 156. 
 
 ' Flower in the Crannied Wall,' 
 
 1. 606. 
 Forlorn, iv. 458. 
 
 ' Frater Ave atque Vale," iv. 381, 
 Freedom, iv. 389. 
 
 Gareth and Lynette, iii. 25. 
 Geraint and Enid, iii. 119. 
 God and the Universe, v. 98. 
 Godiva, i. 364. 
 Gone, i. 622. 
 Guinevere, iii. 371. 
 
 Hands all Round, iv. 387. 
 Happy, iv. 463. 
 Harold : a Drama, v. 481. 
 Helen's Tower, iv. 382. 
 
 Idylls of the King, iii. i. 
 
 ' If I were loved, as I desire to 
 
 be,' i. 112. 
 In Memoriam, ii. 281. 
 In Memoriam — William George 
 
 Ward, iv. 513. 
 In the Children's Hospital : 
 
 Emmie, iv. 163. 
 In the Garden at Swainston, 
 
 i- 583- 
 In the Valley of Cauteretz, i. 
 
 582. 
 Isabel, i. 23. 
 
 June Bracken and Heather, v. 3. 
 Kapiolani, v. 65. 
 
 Lady Clara Vere de Vere, i. 187. 
 
 Lady Clare, i. 409. 
 
 Lancelot and Elaine, iii. 221. 
 
 Leonine Elegiacs, i. 9. 
 
 L'Envoi, i. 381. 
 
 Lilian, i. 21. 
 
 Literary Squabbles, i. 595. 
 
 Locksley Hall, i. 347. 
 
 Locksley Hall Sixty Years After, 
 
 iv. 331. 
 Love and Death, i. 72. 
 Love and Duty, i. 330. 
 ' Love thou thy Land, with Love 
 
 far-brought,' i. 243. 
 Lucretius, i. 511. 
 
 Madeline, i. 36. 
 
 Margaret, i. 87. 
 
 Mariana, i. 25. 
 
 Mariana in the South, i. 29. 
 
 Marriage Morning, i. 629. 
 
 Maud; a Monodrama, ii. 145. 
 
 Mechanophilus, v. 78. 
 
 Merlin and the Gleam, iv. 488. 
 
 Merlin and Vivien, iii. 182. 
 
 Milton, i. 616. 
 
 ' Mine to be the Strength of Spirit 
 
 full and free,' i. 105. 
 Minnie and Winnie, i. 592. 
 Montenegro, iv. 230, 
 Moral, i. 380. 
 Morte d'Arthur, i. 256. 
 ' Move eastward, happy Earth, and 
 
 leave,' i. 432. 
 ' My Life is full of Weary Days," 
 
 i. loi.
 
 INDEX OF POEMS. 
 
 565 
 
 No Answer, i. 625. 
 
 Northern Farmer, New Style, i, 
 
 565- 
 Northern Farmer, Old Style, i. 
 
 559. 
 Nothing will die, i. 5. 
 
 Ode on the Death of the Duke of 
 Wellington, i. 541. 
 
 Ode sung at the Opening of the 
 International Exhibition, i. 541. 
 
 Ode to Memory, i. 48. 
 
 OEnone, i. 158. 
 
 ' Of old sat Freedom on the 
 Heights,' i. 241. 
 
 On a Mourner, i. 237. 
 
 On One who affected an Effemi- 
 nate Manner, iv. 509. 
 
 On the Hill, i. 620. 
 
 On the Jubilee of Queen Victoria, 
 iv. 405. 
 
 Opening of the Indian and Colo- 
 nial Exhibition by the Queen, iv. 
 
 395- 
 Owd Roa, iv. 417. 
 
 Parnassus, iv. 501. 
 
 Pelleas and Ettarre, iii. 315. 
 
 Poets and Critics, v. 87. 
 
 Poets and their Bibliographies, iv. 
 
 398. 
 
 Poland, i. 108. 
 
 Politics, iv. 506, 
 
 Prefatory Poem to my Brother's 
 Sonnets, iv. 379. 
 
 Prefatory Sonnet to the ' Nine- 
 teenth Century,' iv. 228. 
 
 Prologue to Day-Dream, i. 368. 
 
 Prologue to General Hamley, iv. 
 
 357- 
 
 Queen Mary : a Drama, v. 275. 
 
 Recollections of the Arabian 
 
 Nights, i. 41. 
 Requiescat, i. 586. 
 Riflemen Form 1 v. 81. 
 Rizpah, iv. 96. 
 Romney's Remorse, iv. 494. 
 Rosalind, i. 91. 
 
 St. Agnes' Eve, i. 390, 
 
 St. Simeon Stylites, i. 304. 
 
 St. Telemachus, v. 14. 
 
 Sea Dreams, i. 497. 
 
 Sir Galahad, i. 392. 
 
 Sir John Franklin, iv. 247. 
 
 Sir John Oldcastle, Lord Cob- 
 ham, iv. 185. 
 
 Sir Launcelot and Queen Guine- 
 vere, i. 426. 
 
 Song, i. 20. 
 
 Song, i. 54. 
 
 Specimen of a Translation of the 
 Iliad in Blank Verse, i. 618. 
 
 Spring, i. 624. 
 
 Supposed Confessions of a Sec- 
 ond-rate Sensitive Mind, i. 11. 
 
 The Ancient Sage, iv. 287. 
 The Answer, i. 626. 
 The Arrival, i. 374. 
 The Ballad of Oriana, i. 73. 
 The Bandit's Death, v. 42. 
 The Beggar Maid, i. 430. , 
 
 The Blackbird, i. 228. '^^^ 
 
 The Bridesmaid, i. 113. 
 The Brook, i. 454. 
 The Captain, i. 414. 
 The Charge of the Heavy Brigade 
 at Balaclava, iv. 359.
 
 566 
 
 INDEX OF POEMS. 
 
 The Charge of the Light Brigade, 
 
 »• 538. 
 
 The Church Warden and the 
 Curate, v. 48. 
 
 The City Child, i. 591. 
 
 The Coming of Arthur, iii. 4. 
 
 The Cup, V. 103. 
 
 The Daisy, i. 571. 
 
 Tlie Dawn, v. 69. 
 
 The Day-Dream, i. 368. 
 
 The Dead Prophet, iv. 370. 
 
 The Death of CEnone, v. 7. 
 
 The Death of the Duke of Clar- 
 ence and Avondale, v. 100. 
 
 The Death of the Old Year, i. 230. 
 
 The Defence of Lucknow, iv. 174. 
 
 The Departure, i. 380. 
 
 The Deserted House, i. 65. 
 
 The Dreamer, v. 75. 
 
 The Dying Swan, i. 67. 
 
 The Eagle, i. 431. 
 
 The Epic, i. 253. 
 
 The Falcon, vi. 221. 
 
 The First Quarrel, iv, 85. 
 
 The Fleet, iv. 393. 
 
 The Flight, iv. 299. 
 
 The Flower, i. 584. 
 
 The Foresters, vi. 269. 
 
 ' The Form, the Form alone is 
 eloquent! ' i. no. 
 
 The Gardener's Daughter; or, 
 the Pictures, i. 269. 
 
 The Golden Year, i. 335. 
 
 The Goose, i. 250. 
 
 The Grandmother, i. 549. 
 
 The Higher Pantheism, i. 601. 
 
 The Holy Grail, iii. 278. 
 
 The Human Cry, iv. 227. 
 
 The Islet, i. 589. 
 
 The Kraken, i. 19. 
 
 The Lady of Shalott, i. 114. 
 The Last Tournament, iii. 340. 
 The Letter, i. 624. 
 The Letters, i. 434. 
 The Lord of Burleigh, i. 417, 
 The Lotos-Eaters, i. 204. 
 Tlie Lover's Tale, iv. i. 
 The Making of Man, v. 73. 
 The Marriage of Geraint, iii. 85. 
 The May Queen, i. 191. 
 The Mermaid, i. 81. 
 The Merman, i. 79. 
 The Miller's Daughter, i. 145. 
 The Northern Cobbler, iv. 107. 
 The Oak, iv. 512. 
 The Owl — Song, i. 39. 
 The Owl — Second Song, i. 40. 
 The Palace of Art, i. 172. 
 The Passing of Arthur, iii. 399. 
 The Play, iv. 508. 
 The Poet, i. 58. 
 The Poet's Mind, i. 61. 
 The Poet's Song, i. 453. 
 [The Princess; a Medley,'4j;_ij^ 
 The Progress of Spring, iv. 482. 
 The Promise of May, v. 163. 
 The Revenge: a Ballad of the 
 
 Fleet, iv. 121. 
 The Revival, i. 376. 
 The Ring, iv. 434. 
 The Roses on the Terrace, iv. 508. 
 The Sailor Boy, i. 587. 
 The Sea-Fairies, i. 63. 
 The Silent Voices, v. 94. 
 The Sisters, i. 169. 
 The Sisters, iv. 132. 
 The Sleeping Beauty, i. 372. 
 The Sleeping Palace, i. 369. 
 The Snowdrop, iv. 510. 
 The Spinster's Sweet-Arts, iv. 320.
 
 INDEX OF POEMS. 
 
 567 
 
 The Spiteful Letter, i. 593. 
 
 The Talking 0<ik, i. 314. 
 
 The Third of February, 1852, ii. 
 
 222. 
 The Throstle, iv. 511. 
 The Tourney, v. 83. 
 The Two Greetings, iv. 223. 
 The Two Voices, i. 122, 
 The Victim, i. 596. 
 The Village Wife; or, the Entail, 
 
 iv. 148. 
 The Vision of Sin, i. 437. 
 The Voice and the Peak, i. 603. 
 The Voyage, i. 421. 
 The Voyage of Maeldune, iv. 209. 
 The Wanderer, v. 85. 
 The Window ; or, the Song of the 
 
 Wrens, i. 620. 
 The Wreck, iv. 263. 
 Tiresias, iv. 254. 
 Tithonus, i. 343. 
 
 To , i. 34. 
 
 To , i. 103. 
 
 To , i. 171. 
 
 To , after reading a Life and 
 
 Letters, i. 448. 
 To Dante, iv. 248. 
 To E. Fitzgerald, iv. 251. 
 To E. L., on his Travels in 
 
 Greece, i. 450. 
 To H. R. H. Princess Beatrice, 
 
 iv. 392. 
 To J. M. K., i. 104. 
 To J. S., i. 233. 
 To Mary Boyle, iv. 477. 
 Tomorrow, iv. 310. 
 To My Grandson, iv. 83. 
 
 To One who ran dosvn the Eng- 
 lish, iv. 509. 
 
 To Princess Frederica on Her 
 Marriage, iv. 246. 
 
 To Professor Jebb, iv. 409. 
 
 To Sir Walter Scott, v. 41. 
 
 To the Duke of Argyll, iv. 386. 
 
 To the Marquis of Dufferin and 
 Ava, iv. 401. 
 
 To the Master of Balliol, v. 5. 
 
 To the Queen, i. i. 
 
 To the Queen, iii. 419. 
 
 To the Rev. F. D. Maurice, i. 
 
 577- 
 To the Rev. W. H. Brookfield, iv. 
 
 229, 
 To Ulysses, iv. 473, 
 To Victor Hugo, iv. 231. 
 To Virgil, iv. 367. 
 To W. C. Macready, iv. 514. 
 
 Ulysses, i. 339. 
 
 Vastness, iv. 429. 
 
 Wages, i. 600. 
 
 Walking to the Mail, i. 292. 
 
 ' Wan Sculptor, weepest thou to 
 take the Cast," i. 11 1. 
 
 When, i. 628. 
 
 Will, i. 580. 
 
 Will Waterproofs Lyrical Mono- 
 logue, i. 398. 
 
 Winter, i. 623. 
 
 You ask me, why, tho" ill at ease, 
 i. 239.
 
 INDEX OF FIRST LINES TO THE 
 POEMS COMPRISING "IN MEMORIAM." 
 
 Again at Christmas did we weave, ii. 373. 
 A happy lover who has come, ii. 294. 
 And all is well, tho' faith and form, ii. 446. 
 And was the day of my delight, ii. 314. 
 As sometimes in a dead man's face, ii. 369. 
 
 Be near me when my light is low, ii. 343. 
 By night we linger'd on the lawn, ii. 401. 
 
 Calm is the morn without a sound, ii. 298. 
 Contemplate all this work of time, ii. 437. 
 Could I have said while he was here, ii. 376. 
 Could we forget the widow'd hour, ii. 332. 
 
 Dark house, by which once more I stand, ii. 293. 
 Dear friend, far off, my lost desire, ii. 449. 
 Dip down upon the northern shore, ii. 378. 
 Doors, where my heart was used to beat, ii. 438. 
 Dost thou look back on what hath been, ii. 357. 
 Do we indeed desire the dead, ii. 344. 
 
 Fair ship, that from the Italian shore, ii. 295. 
 From art, from nature, from the schools, ii. 342. 
 
 Heart-affluence in discursive talk, ii. 426. 
 He past; a soul of nobler tone : ii. 354- 
 Her eyes are homes of silent prayer, ii. 323. 
 He tasted love with half his mind, ii. 396. 
 High wisdom holds my wisdom less, ii. 430. 
 How fares it with the happy dead ? ii. 337- 
 How many a father have I seen, ii. 346. 
 How pure at heart and sound in head, ii. 400- 
 569
 
 570 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 
 
 I cannot love thee as I ought, ii. 345. 
 
 I cannot see the features right, ii. 364. 
 
 I climb the hill : from end to end, ii. 411. 
 
 I dream'd there would be Spring no more, ii. 363. 
 
 I envy not in any moods, ii. 317. 
 
 If any vague desire should rise, ii. 375. 
 
 If any vision should reveal, ii. 398. 
 
 If one should bring me this report, ii. 301. 
 
 If, in thy second state sublime, ii. 355. 
 
 If Sleep and Death be truly one, ii. 336. 
 
 If these brief lays, of Sorrow born, ii. 341. 
 
 I hear the noise about thy keel : ii. 296. 
 
 I held it truth, with him who sings, ii. 286. 
 
 I know that this was Life, — the track, ii. 315. 
 
 I leave thy praises unexpress'd, ii. 369. 
 
 In those sad words I took farewell : ii. 352. 
 
 I past beside the reverend walls, ii. 389. 
 
 I shall not see thee. Dare I say, ii. 399. 
 
 I sing to him that rests below, ii. 310. 
 
 Is it, then, regret for buried time, ii. 435. 
 
 I sometimes hold it half a sin, ii. 290. 
 
 It is the day when he was born, ii. 423. 
 
 I trust I have not wasted breath : ii. 439. 
 
 I vex my heart with fancies dim : ii. 335. 
 
 I wage not any feud with Death, ii. 337. 
 
 I will not shut me from my kind, ii. 425. 
 
 Lo, as a dove when up she springs, ii. 299. 
 Love is and was my Lord and King, ii. 446. 
 
 ' More than my brothers are to me,* — ii. 374. 
 My love has talk'd with rocks and trees ; ii. 406. 
 My own dim life should teach me this, ii. 325. 
 
 Now fades the last long streak of snow, ii. 434. 
 Now, sometimes in my sorrow shut, ii. 313. 
 
 O days and hours, your work is this, ii. 436. 
 Oh, wast thou with me, dearest, then, ii. 441. 
 Oh yet we trust that somehow good, ii. 347. 
 Old warder of these buried bones, ii. 331.
 
 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 571 
 
 Old Yew, which graspest at the stones, ii. 287. 
 
 O living will that shall endure, ii. 451. 
 
 One writes, that ' Other friends remain,' ii. 290. 
 
 On that last night before we went, ii. 416. 
 
 O Sorrow, cruel fellowship, ii. 288. 
 
 O Sorrow, wilt thou live with me, ii. 353. 
 
 O thou that after toil and storm, ii. 324. 
 
 O true and tried, so well and long, ii. 452. 
 
 Peace; come away: the song of woe, ii. 351. 
 
 Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky, ii. 421. 
 Risest thou thus, dim dawn, again, ii. 366. 
 Risest thou thus, dim dawn, again, ii. 410. 
 
 Sad Hesper o'er the buried sun, ii. 440. 
 Sleep, kinsman thou to death and trance, ii. 365. 
 ' So careful of the type ? ' — but no, ii. 349. 
 So many worlds, so much to do, ii. 368. 
 Still onward winds the dreary way; ii. 316. 
 Strong Son of God, immortal Love, ii. 283. 
 Sweet after showers, ambrosial air, ii. 388. 
 Sweet soul do with me as thou wilt ; ii. 359. 
 
 Take wings of fancy, and ascend, ii. 371. 
 Tears of the widower, when he sees, ii. 300. 
 That each, who seems a separate whole, ii. 340. 
 That which we dare invoke to bless, ii. 443. 
 Tlie baby new to earth and sky, ii. 338. 
 The churl in spirit, up or down, ii. 428. 
 The Danube to the Severn gave, ii. 308. 
 The lesser griefs that may be said, ii. 309. 
 The love that rose on stronger wings, ii. 448. 
 The path by which we twain did go, ii. 312. 
 There rolls the deep where grew the tree, ii. 442. 
 The time draws near the birth of Christ ; ii. 318. 
 The time draws near the birth of Christ ; ii. 419. 
 The wish, that of the living whole, ii. 348. 
 This truth came borne with bier and pall, ii, 382. 
 Tho' if an eye that's downward cast, ii. 356. 
 Tho' truths in manhood darkly join, ii. 328.
 
 572 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 
 
 Thou comest, much wept for : such a breeze, ii. 305. 
 
 Thy converse drew us with delight, ii. 427. 
 
 Thy spirit ere our fatal loss, ii. 334. 
 
 Thy voice is in the rolling air ; ii. 450. 
 
 'Tis held that sorrow makes us wise; ii. 431. 
 
 'Tiswell; 'tis something ; we may stand, ii. 306. 
 
 To-night the winds begin to rise, ii. 303. 
 
 To-night ungather'd let us leave, ii. 420. 
 
 To Sleep I give my powers away ; ii. 289. 
 
 Unwatch'd, the garden bough shall sway, ii. 413. 
 Urania speaks with darken'd brow : ii. 329. 
 
 We leave the well-beloved place, ii. 414. 
 We ranging down this lower track, ii. 339. 
 Whatever I have said or sung, ii. 445. 
 What hope is here for modern rhyme, ii. 372. 
 What words are these have fall'n from me, ii. 304. 
 When I contemplate all alone, ii. 379. 
 When in the down I sink my head, ii. 362. 
 When Lazarus left his charnel-cave, ii. 322. 
 When on my bed the moonlight falls, ii. 361. 
 When rosy plumelets tuft the larch, ii. 397, 
 Who loves not Knowledge ? Who shall rail, ii. 432. 
 Wild bird, whose warble, liquid sweet, ii. 392. 
 Witch-elms that counterchange the floor, ii, 393. 
 With such compelling cause to grieve, ii. 319. 
 With trembling fingers did we weave, ii. 320. 
 With weary steps I loiter on, ii. 330. 
 
 Yet if some voice that man could trust, ii. 326. 
 Yet pity for a horse o'er-driven, ii. 356. 
 You leave us : you will see the Rhine, ii. 408. 
 You say, but with no touch of scorn, ii. 405. 
 You thought my heart too far diseased ; ii. 360. 
 
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