Act III

SCENE I.

The Bower.

HENRY and ROSAMUND:

HENRY: All that you say is just. I cannot answer it till better times, when I shall put away--

ROSAMUND: What will you put away?

HENRY: That which you ask me Till better times. Let it content you now There is no woman that I love so well.

ROSAMUND: No woman but should be content with that--

HENRY: And one fair child to fondle!

ROSAMUND: O yes, the child We waited for so long--heaven's gift at last-- And how you doated on him then! To-day I almost fear'd your kiss was colder--yes-- But then the child is such a child. What chance That he should ever spread into the man Here in our silence? I have done my best. I am not learn'd.

HENRY: I am the King, his father, And I will look to it. Is our secret ours? Have you had any alarm? no stranger?

ROSAMUND: No. The warder of the bower hath given himself Of late to wine. I sometimes think he sleeps When he should watch; and yet what fear? the people Believe the wood enchanted. No one comes, Nor foe nor friend; his fond excess of wine Springs from the loneliness of my poor bower, Which weighs even on me.

HENRY: Yet these tree-towers, Their long bird-echoing minster-aisles,--the voice Of the perpetual brook, these golden slopes Of Solomon-shaming flowers--that was your saying, All pleased you so at first.

ROSAMUND: Not now so much. My Anjou bower was scarce as beautiful. But you were oftener there. I have none but you. The brook's voice is not yours, and no flower, not The sun himself, should he be changed to one, Could shine away the darkness of that gap Left by the lack of love.

HENRY: The lack of love!

ROSAMUND: Of one we love. Nay, I would not be bold, Yet hoped ere this you might--

[Looks earnestly at him.

HENRY: Anything further?

ROSAMUND: Only my best bower-maiden died of late, And that old priest whom John of Salisbury trusted Hath sent another.

HENRY: Secret?

ROSAMUND: I but ask'd her One question, and she primm'd her mouth and put Her hands together--thus--and said, 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?

HENRY: I came to England suddenly, And on a great occasion sure to wake As great a wrath in Becket--

ROSAMUND: Always Becket! 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