Becket and other plays | Page 6

a hate Not ever to be heal'd.
Enter ROSAMUND DE CLIFFORD, flying from SIR REGINALD FITZURSE. Drops her veil.
BECKET. Rosamund de Clifford!
ROSAMUND. Save me, father, hide me--they follow me-- and I must not be known.
BECKET. Pass in with Herbert there.
[Exeunt ROSAMUND and HERBERT by side door.
Enter FITZURSE.
FITZURSE. The Archbishop!
BECKET. Ay! what wouldst thou, Reginald?
FITZURSE. Why--why, my lord, I follow'd--follow'd one--
BECKET. And then what follows? Let me follow thee.
FITZURSE. It much imports me I should know her name.
BECKET. What her?
FITZURSE. The woman that I follow'd hither.
BECKET. Perhaps it may import her all as much Not to be known.
FITZURSE. And what care I for that? Come, come, my lord Archbishop; I saw that door Close even now upon the woman.
BECKET. Well?
FITZURSE (_making for the door_). Nay, let me pass, my lord, for I must know.
BECKET. Back, man!
FITZURSE. Then tell me who and what she is.
BECKET. Art thou so sure thou followedst anything? Go home, and sleep thy wine off, for thine eyes Glare stupid--wild with wine.
FITZURSE (_making to the door_). I must and will. I care not for thy new archbishoprick.
BECKET. Back, man, I tell thee! What! Shall I forget my new archbishoprick And smite thee with my crozier on the skull? 'Fore God, I am a mightier man than thou.
FlTZURSE. It well befits thy new archbishoprick To take the vagabond woman of the street Into thine arms!
BECKET. O drunken ribaldry! Out, beast! out, bear!
FlTZURSE. I shall remember this.
BECKET. Do, and begone! [Exit FITZURSE. [_Going to the door, sees_ DE TRACY.] Tracy, what dost thou here?
DE TRACY. My lord, I follow'd Reginald Fitzurse.
BECKET. Follow him out!
DE TRACY. I shall remember this Discourtesy. [Exit.
BECKET. Do. These be those baron-brutes That havock'd all the land in Stephen's day. Rosamund de Clifford.
_Re-enter_ ROSAMUND and HERBERT.
ROSAMUND. Here am I.
BECKET. Why here? We gave thee to the charge of John of Salisbury. To pass thee to thy secret bower to-morrow. Wast thou not told to keep thyself from sight?
ROSAMUND. Poor bird of passage! so I was; but, father, They say that you are wise in winged things, And know the ways of Nature. Bar the bird From following the fled summer--a chink--he's out, Gone! And there stole into the city a breath Full of the meadows, and it minded me Of the sweet woods of Clifford, and the walks Where I could move at pleasure, and I thought Lo! I must out or die.
BECKET. Or out and die. And what hast thou to do with this Fitzurse?
ROSAMUND. Nothing. He sued my hand. I shook at him. He found me once alone. Nay--nay--I cannot Tell you: my father drove him and his friends, De Tracy and De Brito, from our castle. I was but fourteen and an April then. I heard him swear revenge.
BECKET. Why will you court it By self-exposure? flutter out at night? Make it so hard to save a moth from the fire?
ROSAMUND. I have saved many of 'em. You catch 'em, so, Softly, and fling them out to the free air. They burn themselves _within_-door.
BECKET. Our good John Must speed you to your bower at once. The child Is there already.
ROSAMUND. Yes--the child--the child-- O rare, a whole long day of open field.
BECKET. Ay, but you go disguised.
ROSAMUND. O rare again! We'll baffle them, I warrant. What shall it be? I'll go as a nun.
BECKET. No.
ROSAMUND. What, not good enough Even to play at nun?
BECKET. Dan John with a nun, That Map, and these new railers at the Church May plaister his clean name with scurrilous rhymes! No! Go like a monk, cowling and clouding up That fatal star, thy Beauty, from the squint Of lust and glare of malice. Good night! good night!
ROSAMUND. Father, I am so tender to all hardness! Nay, father, first thy blessing.
BECKET. Wedded?
ROSAMUND. Father!
BECKET. Well, well! I ask no more. Heaven bless thee! hence!
ROSAMUND. O, holy father, when thou seest him next, Commend me to thy friend.
BECKET. What friend?
ROSAMUND. The King.
BECKET. Herbert, take out a score of armed men To guard this bird of passage to her cage; And watch Fitzurse, and if he follow thee, Make him thy prisoner. I am Chancellor yet. [Exeunt HERBERT and ROSAMUND. Poor soul! poor soul! My friend, the King!... O thou Great Seal of England, Given me by my dear friend the King of England-- We long have wrought together, thou and I-- Now must I send thee as a common friend To tell the King, my friend, I am against him. We are friends no more: he will say that, not I. The worldly bond between us is dissolved, Not yet the love: can I be under him As Chancellor? as Archbishop over him? Go therefore like a friend slighted by one That hath climb'd up to nobler company. Not slighted--all but moan'd for: thou must go. I have not dishonour'd thee--I