BECKET. King's men at least should know That their own King closed with me last July That I should pass the censures of the Church On those that crown'd young Henry in this realm, And trampled on the rights of Canterbury. FITZURSE. What! dare you charge the King with treachery? _He_ sanction thee to excommunicate The prelates whom he chose to crown his son! BECKET. I spake no word of treachery, Reginald. But for the truth of this I make appeal To all the archbishops, bishops, prelates, barons, Monks, knights, five hundred, that were there and heard. Nay, you yourself were there: you heard yourself. FITZURSE. I was not there. BECKET. I saw you there. FITZURSE. I was not. BECKET. You were. I never forget anything. FITZURSE. He makes the King a traitor, me a liar. How long shall we forbear him? JOHN OF SALISBURY (_drawing_ BECKET _aside_). O my good lord. Speak with them privately on this hereafter. You see they have been revelling, and I fear Are braced and brazen'd up with Christmas wines For any murderous brawl. BECKET. And yet they prate Of mine, my brawls, when those, that name themselves Of the King's part, have broken down our barns, Wasted our diocese, outraged our tenants, Lifted our produce, driven our clerics out-- Why they, your friends, those ruffians, the De Brocs, They stood on Dover beach to murder me, They slew my stags in mine own manor here, Mutilated, poor brute, my sumpter-mule, Plunder'd the vessel full of Gascon wine, The old King's present, carried off the casks, Kill'd half the crew, dungeon'd the other half In Pevensey Castle-- DE MORVILLE. Why not rather then, If this be so, complain to your young King, Not punish of your own authority? BECKET. Mine enemies barr'd all access to the boy. They knew he loved me. Hugh, Hugh, how proudly you exalt your head! Nay, when they seek to overturn our rights, I ask no leave of king, or mortal man, To set them straight again. Alone I do it. Give to the King the things that are the King's, And those of God to God. FITZURSE. Threats! threats! ye hear him. What! will he excommunicate all the world? [_The_ KNIGHTS _come round_ BECKET. DE TRACY. He shall not. DE BRITO. Well, as yet--I should be grateful-- He hath not excommunicated _me_. BECKET. Because thou wast _born_ excommunicate. I never spied in thee one gleam of grace. DE BRITO. Your Christian's Christian charity! BECKET. By St. Denis---- DE BRITO. Ay, by St. Denis, now will he flame out, And lose his head as old St. Denis did.