Act V - Page 2

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. HENRY: Methought I had recover'd of the Becket, That all was planed and bevell'd smooth again, Save from 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. 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: And what would my own Aquitaine say to that? First, free thy captive from her hopeless prison. HENRY: O 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-- I do remember. He bad me put her into a nunnery-- 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.