FITZURSE. Madam, I am as much man as the King. Madam, I fear Church-censures like your King. ELEANOR. He grovels to the Church when he's black-blooded, But kinglike fought the proud archbishop,--kinglike Defied the Pope, and, like his kingly sires, The Normans, striving still to break or bind The spiritual giant with our island laws And customs, made me for the moment proud Ev'n of that stale Church-bond which link'd me with him To bear him kingly sons. I am not so sure But that I love him still. Thou as much man! No more of that; we will to France and be Beforehand with the King, and brew from out This Godstow-Becket intermeddling such A strong hate-philtre as may madden him--madden Against his priest beyond all hellebore. ACT V. SCENE I.--_Castle in Normandy. King's Chamber_. HENRY, ROGER OF YORK, FOLIOT, JOCELYN OF SALISBURY. ROGER OF YORK. Nay, nay, my liege, He rides abroad with armed followers, Hath broken all his promises to thyself, Cursed and anathematised us right and left, Stirr'd up a party there against your son-- HENRY. Roger of York, you always hated him, Even when you both were boys at Theobald's. ROGER OF YORK. I always hated boundless arrogance. In mine own cause I strove against him there, And in thy cause I strive against him now. HENRY. I cannot think he moves against my son, Knowing right well with what a tenderness He loved my son. ROGER OF YORK. Before you made him king. But Becket ever moves against a king. The Church is all--the crime to be a king. We trust your Royal Grace, lord of more land Than any crown in Europe, will not yield To lay your neck beneath your citizens' heel. HENRY. Not to a Gregory of my throning! No. FOLIOT. My royal liege, in aiming at your love, It may be sometimes I have overshot My duties to our Holy Mother Church, Tho' all the world allows I fall no inch Behind this Becket, rather go beyond In scourgings, macerations, mortifyings, Fasts, disciplines that clear the spiritual eye, And break the soul from earth. Let all that be. I boast not: but you know thro' all this quarrel I still have cleaved to the crown, in hope the crown Would cleave to me that but obey'd the crown, Crowning your son; for which our loyal service, And since we likewise swore to obey the customs, York and myself, and our good Salisbury here, Are push'd from out communion of the Church. JOCELYN OF SALISBURY. Becket hath trodden on us like worms, my liege; Trodden one half dead; one half, but half-alive, Cries to the King. HENRY (_aside_). Take care o' thyself, O King. JOCELYN OF SALISBURY. Being so crush'd and so humiliated We scarcely dare to bless the food we eat Because of Becket. HENRY. What would ye have me do? ROGER OF YORK. Summon your barons; take their counsel: yet I know--could swear--as long as Becket breathes, Your Grace will never have one quiet hour.