BECKET. Judgment! Barons! Who but the bridegroom dares to judge the bride, Or he the bridegroom may appoint? Not he That is not of the house, but from the street Stain'd with the mire thereof. I had been so true To Henry and mine office that the King Would throne me in the great Archbishoprick: And I, that knew mine own infirmity, For the King's pleasure rather than God's cause Took it upon me--err'd thro' love of him. Now therefore God from me withdraws Himself, And the King too. What! forty thousand marks! Why thou, the King, the Pope, the Saints, the world, Know that when made Archbishop I was freed, Before the Prince and chief Justiciary, From every bond and debt and obligation Incurr'd as Chancellor. Hear me, son. As gold Outvalues dross, light darkness, Abel Cain, The soul the body, and the Church the Throne, I charge thee, upon pain of mine anathema, That thou obey, not me, but God in me, Rather than Henry. I refuse to stand By the King's censure, make my cry to the Pope, By whom I will be judged; refer myself, The King, these customs, all the Church, to him, And under his authority--I depart. [_Going_. [LEICESTER _looks at him doubtingly_. Am I a prisoner? LEICESTER. By St. Lazarus, no! I am confounded by thee. Go in peace. DE BROC. In peace now--but after. Take that for earnest. [_Flings a bone at him from the rushes_. DE BRITO, FITZURSE, DE TRACY, _and others (flinging wisps of rushes)_. Ay, go in peace, caitiff, caitiff! And that too, perjured prelate--and that, turncoat shaveling! There, there, there! traitor, traitor, traitor! BECKET. Mannerless wolves! [_Turning and facing them_. HERBERT. Enough, my lord, enough! BECKET. Barons of England and of Normandy, When what ye shake at doth but seem to fly, True test of coward, ye follow with a yell. But I that threw the mightiest knight of France, Sir Engelram de Trie,-- HERBERT. Enough, my lord. BECKET. More than enough. I play the fool again. _Enter_ HERALD. HERALD. The King commands you, upon pain of death, That none should wrong or injure your Archbishop. FOLIOT. Deal gently with the young man Absalom. [_Great doors of the Hall at the back open, and discover a crowd. They shout_: Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord! SCENE IV.--_Refectory of the Monastery at Northampton. A Banquet on the Tables_. _Enter_ BECKET. BECKET'S RETAINERS. 1ST RETAINER. Do thou speak first. 2ND RETAINER. Nay, thou! Nay, thou! Hast not thou drawn the short straw? 1ST RETAINER. My lord Archbishop, wilt thou permit us-- BECKET. To speak without stammering and like a free man? Ay. 1ST RETAINER. My lord, permit us then to leave thy service. BECKET. When? 1ST RETAINER. Now. BECKET. To-night?