Rainbow, stay, Gleam upon gloom, Bright as my dream, Rainbow, stay! But it passes away, Gloom upon gleam, Dark as my doom-- O rainbow stay. SCENE II.--_Outside the Woods near_ ROSAMUND'S _Bower_. ELEANOR. FITZURSE. ELEANOR. Up from the salt lips of the land we two Have track'd the King to this dark inland wood; And somewhere hereabouts he vanish'd. Here His turtle builds: his exit is our adit: Watch! he will out again, and presently, Seeing he must to Westminster and crown Young Henry there to-morrow. FITZURSE. We have watch'd So long in vain, he hath pass'd out again, And on the other side. [_A great horn winded_. Hark! Madam! ELEANOR. Ay, How ghostly sounds that horn in the black wood! [_A countryman flying_. Whither away, man? what are you flying from? COUNTRYMAN. The witch! the witch! she sits naked by a great heap of gold in the middle of the wood, and when the horn sounds she comes out as a wolf. Get you hence! a man passed in there to-day: I holla'd to him, but he didn't hear me: he'll never out again, the witch has got him. I daren't stay--I daren't stay! ELEANOR. Kind of the witch to give thee warning tho'. [_Man flies_. Is not this wood-witch of the rustic's fear Our woodland Circe that hath witch'd the King? [_Horn sounded. Another flying_. FITZURSE. Again! stay, fool, and tell me why thou fliest. COUNTRYMAN. Fly thou too. The King keeps his forest head of game here, and when that horn sounds, a score of wolf-dogs are let loose that will tear thee piecemeal. Linger not till the third horn. Fly! [_Exit_. ELEANOR. This is the likelier tale. We have hit the place. Now let the King's fine game look to itself. [_Horn_. FITZURSE. Again!-- And far on in the dark heart of the wood I hear the yelping of the hounds of hell. ELEANOR. I have my dagger here to still their throats. FITZURSE. Nay, Madam, not to-night--the night is falling. What can be done to-night? ELEANOR. Well--well--away. SCENE III.--_Traitor's Meadow at Fréteval. Pavilions and Tents of the English and French Baronage_. BECKET _and_ HERBERT OF BOSHAM. BECKET. See here! HERBERT. What's here? BECKET. A notice from the priest, To whom our John of Salisbury committed The secret of the bower, that our wolf-Queen Is prowling round the fold. I should be back In England ev'n for this. HERBERT. These are by-things In the great cause. BECKET. The by-things of the Lord Are the wrong'd innocences that will cry From all the hidden by-ways of the world In the great day against the wronger. I know Thy meaning. Perish she, I, all, before The Church should suffer wrong!