Excerpt
PROLOGUE.
A Castle in Normandy. Interior of the Hall. Roofs of a City seen thro' Windows.
HENRY and BECKET at chess.
HENRY.So then our good Archbishop TheobaldLies dying.
BECKET.I am grieved to know as much.
HENRY.But we must have a mightier man than heFor 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 timeHath climb'd the throne and almost clutch'd the crown;But by the royal customs of our realmThe 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 excommunicateMy tenants or my household.
BECKET. Look to your king.
HENRY.No man without my leave shall cross the seasTo 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.
BECKET. Why—there then, for you see my bishopHath 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 fancyUpon 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 boundBy Holy Church. And wherefore should she seekThe life of Rosamund de Clifford moreThan 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 statesmanWho serves and loves his king, and whom the kingLoves 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 findAn easy father confessor in thee.
BECKET.St. Denis, that thou shouldst not. I should beatThy kingship as my bishop hath beaten it.
HENRY.Hell take thy bishop then, and my kingship too...!