HERBERT. Oh, Thomas; I could fall down and worship thee, my Thomas, For thou hast trodden this wine-press alone. BECKET. Nay, of the people there are many with me. WALTER MAP. I am not altogether with you, my lord, tho' I am none of those that would raise a storm between you, lest ye should draw together like two ships in a calm. You wrong the King: he meant what he said to-day. Who shall vouch for his to-morrows? One word further. Doth not the _fewness_ of anything make the fulness of it in estimation? Is not virtue prized mainly for its rarity and great baseness loathed as an exception: for were all, my lord, as noble as yourself, who would look up to you? and were all as base as--who shall I say--Fitzurse and his following--who would look down upon them? My lord, you have put so many of the King's household out of communion, that they begin to smile at it. BECKET. At their peril, at their peril-- WALTER MAP. --For tho' the drop may hollow out the dead stone, doth not the living skin thicken against perpetual whippings? This is the second grain of good counsel I ever proffered thee, and so cannot suffer by the rule of frequency. Have I sown it in salt? I trust not, for before God I promise you the King hath many more wolves than he can tame in his woods of England, and if it suit their purpose to howl for the King, and you still move against him, you may have no less than to die for it; but God and his free wind grant your lordship a happy home-return and the King's kiss of peace in Kent. Farewell! I must follow the King. [_Exit_. HERBERT. Ay, and I warrant the customs. Did the King Speak of the customs? BECKET. No!--To die for it-- I live to die for it, I die to live for it. The State will die, the Church can never die. The King's not like to die for that which dies; But I must die for that which never dies. It will be so--my visions in the Lord: It must be so, my friend! the wolves of England Must murder her one shepherd, that the sheep May feed in peace. False figure, Map would say. Earth's falses are heaven's truths. And when my voice Is martyr'd mute, and this man disappears, That perfect trust may come again between us, And there, there, there, not here I shall rejoice To find my stray sheep back within the fold. The crowd are scattering, let us move away! And thence to England. [_Exeunt_. ACT IV. SCENE I.--_The Outskirts of the Bower_. GEOFFREY (_coming out of the wood_). Light again! light again! Margery? no, that's a finer thing there. How it glitters! ELEANOR (_entering_). Come to me, little one. How camest thou hither? GEOFFREY. On my legs. ELEANOR. And mighty pretty legs too. Thou art the prettiest child I ever saw. Wilt thou love me? GEOFFREY. No; I only love mother. ELEANOR. Ay; and who is thy mother? GEOFFREY. They call her--But she lives secret, you see. ELEANOR. Why?