ELEANOR. And what would my own Aquitaine say to that? First, free thy captive from _her_ hopeless prison. HENRY. O devil, can I free her from the grave? ELEANOR. You are too tragic: both of us are players In such a comedy as our court of Provence Had laugh'd at. That's a delicate Latin lay Of Walter Map: the lady holds the cleric Lovelier than any soldier, his poor tonsure A crown of Empire. Will you have it again? (_Offering the cross. He dashes it down_.) St. Cupid, that is too irreverent. Then mine once more. (_Puts it on_.) Your cleric hath your lady. Nay, what uncomely faces, could he see you! Foam at the mouth because King Thomas, lord Not only of your vassals but amours, Thro' chastest honour of the Decalogue Hath used the full authority of his Church To put her into Godstow nunnery. HENRY. To put her into Godstow nunnery! He dared not--liar! yet, yet I remember-- I do remember. He bad me put her into a nunnery-- Into Godstow, into Hellstow, Devilstow! The Church! the Church! God's eyes! I would the Church were down in hell! [_Exit_. ELEANOR. Aha! _Enter the four_ KNIGHTS. FITZURSE. What made the King cry out so furiously? ELEANOR. Our Becket, who will not absolve the Bishops. I think ye four have cause to love this Becket. FITZURSE. I hate him for his insolence to all. DE TRACY. And I for all his insolence to thee. DE BRITO. I hate him for I hate him is my reason, And yet I hate him for a hypocrite. DE MORVILLE. I do not love him, for he did his best To break the barons, and now braves the King. ELEANOR. Strike, then, at once, the King would have him--See! _Re-enter_ HENRY. HENRY. No man to love me, honour me, obey me! Sluggards and fools! The slave that eat my bread has kick'd his King! The dog I cramm'd with dainties worried me! The fellow that on a lame jade came to court, A ragged cloak for saddle--he, he, he, To shake my throne, to push into my chamber-- My bed, where ev'n the slave is private--he-- I'll have her out again, he shall absolve The bishops--they but did my will--not you-- Sluggards and fools, why do you stand and stare? You are no king's men--you--you--you are Becket's men. Down with King Henry! up with the Archbishop! Will no man free me from this pestilent priest? [_Exit_. [_The_ KNIGHTS _draw their swords_. ELEANOR. _Are_ ye king's men? I am king's woman, I. THE KNIGHTS. King's men! King's men! SCENE II.--_A Room in Canterbury Monastery_. BECKET _and_ JOHN OF SALISBURY. BECKET. York said so? JOHN OF SALISBURY. Yes: a man may take good counsel Ev'n from his foe. BECKET. York will say anything. What is he saying now? gone to the King And taken our anathema with him. York! Can the King de-anathematise this York?