Licence: Public Domain Mark
Credit: The poetical works of Alfred Tennyson. Source: Wellcome Collection.
Provider: This material is part of the Elmer Belt Florence Nightingale collection. The original may be consulted at University of California Libraries.
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![To bear him kinj^ly sons. I am not so sure But that 1 love him still. Thou as much mau! 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 liate-jihiltre as may madden him — madden Against his priest beyond all hellebore. ACT V. ScENK I. — Castle in Normandy. King's Chamber. Henry, Roger of York, Foliot, Jo- CELYN OF SaIJSBURY. Roger of York-. Nay, nay, my liege. He rides abroad with armed followers, Hath broken all his promises to thyself. Cursed and anatiiematized us rigiu and left, Stirr'd up a })arty there against your sou — Henry. l?oger of York, you always hated him, Even when you both were boys at Theo- bald's. Roger of York. I always hated bound- less arrogance. In mine own cause I strove against him there, And in thy cause I strive against him now. Henri/. I cannot think he moves against my son, Knowing right well with wliat a tender- ness He loved my son. Roger of York. Before you made him king. But Beckct 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 citizen's heel. Henri/. Not to a Gregory of my thron- ing ! No. Foliot. My royal liege, in aiming at your love, It may be sometimes 1 have overshot My duties to our Holy Mother Church, Tho' all the world allows I fall no inch Behind this Becket, ratlier go beyond In scourgings, macerations, mortifyings, Fasts, discijdines that clear the spiritual eye, And break the soul from earth. Let all that be. I boast not: but you know thro' all this quarrel I still have cleaved to the crown, in hope the crown Would cleave to me that but obey'd the crown. Crowning your son ; for which our loyal service, And since we likewise swore to obey the customs, York and myself, and our good Salisbury here. Are push'd from out communion of the Church. Jocelyn of Salisbury. Becket hath trod- den on us like worms, my liege ; Trodden one half dead; one half, but half alive. Cries to tlic 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 swear—as long as Becket bi-enthes, Your Grace will never have one quiet hour. Henry. What? . . . Ay . . . but pray you do not work u]jon me. I see your drift ... it ma_\- be so . . . and yet You know me easily auger'd. Will you hence 1 He shall absolve you . . . you shall have redress. I have a dizzying headache. Let me rest. I '11 call you by and by. [Exeunt Roger of York, Foliot_ and Jocelyn of Salishury. 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](https://iiif.wellcomecollection.org/image/b20452597_0780.jp2/full/800%2C/0/default.jpg)
