LOUIS. Well, well, no more! I am proud of my 'Monk-King,' Whoever named me; and, brother, Holy Church May rock, but will not wreck, nor our Archbishop Stagger on the slope decks for any rough sea Blown by the breath of kings. We do forgive you For aught you wrought against us. [HENRY _holds up his hand_. Nay, I pray you, Do not defend yourself. You will do much To rake out all old dying heats, if you, At my requesting, will but look into The wrongs you did him, and restore his kin, Reseat him on his throne of Canterbury, Be, both, the friends you were. HENRY. The friends we were! Co-mates we were, and had our sport together, Co-kings we were, and made the laws together. The world had never seen the like before. You are too cold to know the fashion of it. Well, well, we will be gentle with him, gracious-- Most gracious. _Enter_ BECKET, _after him,_ JOHN OF OXFORD, ROGER OF YORK, GILBERT FOLIOT, DE BROC, FITZURSE, _etc_. Only that the rift he made May close between us, here I am wholly king, The word should come from him. BECKET (_kneeling_). Then, my dear liege, I here deliver all this controversy Into your royal hands. HENRY. Ah, Thomas, Thomas, Thou art thyself again, Thomas again. BECKET (_rising_). Saving God's honour! HENRY. Out upon thee, man! Saving the Devil's honour, his yes and no. Knights, bishops, earls, this London spawn--by Mahound, I had sooner have been born a Mussulman-- Less clashing with their priests-- I am half-way down the slope--will no man stay me? I dash myself to pieces--I stay myself-- Puff--it is gone. You, Master Becket, you That owe to me your power over me-- Nay, nay-- Brother of France, you have taken, cherish'd him Who thief-like fled from his own church by night, No man pursuing. I would have had him back. Take heed he do not turn and rend you too: For whatsoever may displease him--that Is clean against God's honour--a shift, a trick Whereby to challenge, face me out of all My regal rights. Yet, yet--that none may dream I go against God's honour--ay, or himself In any reason, choose A hundred of the wisest heads from England, A hundred, too, from Normandy and Anjou: Let these decide on what was customary In olden days, and all the Church of France Decide on their decision, I am content More, what the mightiest and the holiest Of all his predecessors may have done Ev'n to the least and meanest of my own, Let him do the same to me--I am content. LOUIS. Ay, ay! the King humbles himself enough. BECKET. (_Aside_) Words! he will wriggle out of them like an eel When the time serves. (_Aloud_.) My lieges and my lords, The thanks of Holy Church are due to those That went before us for their work, which we Inheriting reap an easier harvest. Yet--