HENRY. God's will be what it will, the man shall seal, Or I will seal his doom. My burgher's son-- Nay, if I cannot break him as the prelate, I'll crush him as the subject. Send for him back. [_Sits on his throne_. Barons and bishops of our realm of England, After the nineteen winters of King Stephen-- A reign which was no reign, when none could sit By his own hearth in peace; when murder common As nature's death, like Egypt's plague, had fill'd All things with blood; when every doorway blush'd, Dash'd red with that unhallow'd passover; When every baron ground his blade in blood; The household dough was kneaded up with blood; The millwheel turn'd in blood; the wholesome plow Lay rusting in the furrow's yellow weeds, Till famine dwarft the race--I came, your King! Nor dwelt alone, like a soft lord of the East, In mine own hall, and sucking thro' fools' ears The flatteries of corruption--went abroad 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 glassy-smooth, 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 came on certain wholesome usages, Lost in desuetude, of my grandsire's day, Good royal customs--had them written fair For John of Oxford here to read to you. JOHN OF OXFORD. And I can easily swear to these as being The King's will and God's will and justice; yet I could but read a part to-day, because---- FITZURSE. Because my lord of Canterbury---- DE TRACY. Ay, This lord of Canterbury---- DE BRITO. As is his wont Too much of late whene'er your royal rights Are mooted in our councils---- FITZURSE. --made an uproar.