JOHN OF SALISBURY. Thomas, I would thou hadst return'd to England, Like some wise prince of this world from his wars, With more of olive-branch and amnesty For foes at home--thou hast raised the world against thee. BECKET. Why, John, my kingdom is not of this world. JOHN OF SALISBURY. If it were more of this world it might be More of the next. A policy of wise pardon Wins here as well as there. To bless thine enemies-- BECKET. Ay, mine, not Heaven's. JOHN OF SALISBURY. And may there not be something Of this world's leaven in thee too, when crying On Holy Church to thunder out her rights And thine own wrong so pitilessly. Ah, Thomas, The lightnings that we think are only Heaven's Flash sometimes out of earth against the heavens. The soldier, when he lets his whole self go Lost in the common good, the common wrong, Strikes truest ev'n for his own self. I crave Thy pardon--I have still thy leave to speak. Thou hast waged God's war against the King; and yet We are self-uncertain creatures, and we may, Yea, even when we know not, mix our spites And private hates with our defence of Heaven. [_Enter_ EDWARD GRIM. BECKET. Thou art but yesterday from Cambridge, Grim; What say ye there of Becket? GRIM. _I_ believe him The bravest in our roll of Primates down From Austin--there are some--for there are men Of canker'd judgment everywhere-- BECKET. Who hold With York, with York against me. GRIM. Well, my lord, A stranger monk desires access to you. BECKET. York against Canterbury, York against God! I am open to him. [_Exit_ GRIM. _Enter_ ROSAMUND _as a Monk_. ROSAMUND. Can I speak with you Alone, my father? BECKET. Come you to confess? ROSAMUND. Not now. BECKET. Then speak; this is my other self, Who like my conscience never lets me be. ROSAMUND (_throwing back the cowl_). I know him; our good John of Salisbury. BECKET. Breaking already from thy noviciate To plunge into this bitter world again-- These wells of Marah. I am grieved, my daughter. I thought that I had made a peace for thee.