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.

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 honor 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.

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 honor for the Pope our master,

Have pity on him, sorely prest upon By the fierce Emperor and his Anti

pope.

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 betterfor the time.

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 (signs). 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

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 glassysmooth,

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

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, 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 judg ment on him.

Becket. Sons sit in judgment on

their father! - then The spire of the Holy Church may prick the graves

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.

will hate thee.

The Church

[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.

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 thy self?