Becket and other plays | Page 9

Ringing their own death-knell thro' all the realm.
HERBERT. And I can tell you, lords, ye are all as like To lodge a fear in Thomas Becket's heart As find a hare's form in a lion's cave.
JOHN OF OXFORD. Ay, sheathe your swords, ye will displease the King.
DE BROC. Why down then thou! but an he come to Saltwood, By God's death, thou shalt stick him like a calf! [Sheathing his sword.
HILARY. O my good lord, I do entreat thee--sign. Save the King's honour here before his barons. He hath sworn that thou shouldst sign, and now but shuns The semblance of defeat; I have heard him say He means no more; so if thou sign, my lord, That were but as the shadow of an assent.
BECKET. 'Twould seem too like the substance, if I sign'd.
PHILIP DE ELEEMOSYNA. My lord, thine ear! I have the ear of the Pope. As thou hast honour for the Pope our master, Have pity on him, sorely prest upon By the fierce Emperor and his Antipope. Thou knowest he was forced to fly to France; He pray'd me to pray thee to pacify Thy King; for if thou go against thy King, Then must he likewise go against thy King, And then thy King might join the Antipope, And that would shake the Papacy as it stands. Besides, thy King swore to our cardinals He meant no harm nor damage to the Church. Smoothe thou his pride--thy signing is but form; Nay, and should harm come of it, it is the Pope Will be to blame--not thou. Over and over He told me thou shouldst pacify the King, Lest there be battle between Heaven and Earth, And Earth should get the better--for the time. Cannot the Pope absolve thee if thou sign?
BECKET. Have I the orders of the Holy Father?
PHILIP DE ELEEMOSYNA. Orders, my lord--why, no; for what am I? The secret whisper of the Holy Father. Thou, that hast been a statesman, couldst thou always Blurt thy free mind to the air?
BECKET. If Rome be feeble, then should I be firm.
PHILIP. Take it not that way--balk not the Pope's will. When he hath shaken off the Emperor, He heads the Church against the King with thee.
RICHARD DE HASTINGS (_kneeling_). Becket, I am the oldest of the Templars; I knew thy father; he would be mine age Had he lived now; think of me as thy father! Behold thy father kneeling to thee, Becket. Submit; I promise thee on my salvation That thou wilt hear no more o' the customs.
BECKET. What! Hath Henry told thee? hast thou talk'd with him?
Another TEMPLAR (_kneeling_). Father, I am the youngest of the Templars, Look on me as I were thy bodily son, For, like a son, I lift my hands to thee.
PHILIP. Wilt thou hold out for ever, Thomas Becket? Dost thou not hear?
BECKET (_signs_). Why--there then--there--I sign, And swear to obey the customs.
FOLIOT. Is it thy will, My lord Archbishop, that we too should sign?
BECKET. O ay, by that canonical obedience Thou still hast owed thy father, Gilbert Foliot.
FOLIOT. Loyally and with good faith, my lord Archbishop?
BECKET. O ay, with all that loyalty and good faith Thou still hast shown thy primate, Gilbert Foliot. [BECKET draws apart with HERBERT. Herbert, Herbert, have I betray'd the Church? I'll have the paper back--blot out my name.
HERBERT. Too late, my lord: you see they are signing there.
BECKET. False to myself--it is the will of God To break me, prove me nothing of myself! This Almoner hath tasted Henry's gold. The cardinals have finger'd Henry's gold. And Rome is venal ev'n to rottenness. I see it, I see it. I am no soldier, as he said--at least No leader. Herbert, till I hear from the Pope I will suspend myself from all my functions. If fast and prayer, the lacerating scourge--
FOLIOT (_from the table_). My lord Archbishop, thou hast yet to seal.
BECKET. First, Foliot, let me see what I have sign'd. [Goes to the table. What, this! and this!--what! new and old together! Seal? If a seraph shouted from the sun, And bad me seal against the rights of the Church, I would anathematise him. I will not seal. [Exit with HERBERT.
Enter KING HENRY.
HENRY. Where's Thomas? hath he sign'd? show me the papers! Sign'd and not seal'd! How's that?
JOHN OF OXFORD. He would not seal. And when he sign'd, his face was stormy-red-- Shame, wrath, I know not what. He sat down there And dropt it in his hands, and then a paleness, Like the wan twilight after sunset, crept Up even to the tonsure, and he groan'd, 'False to myself! It is the will of God!'
HENRY. God's will be what it will, the man shall seal, Or I will seal his doom. My burgher's son-- Nay, if I cannot break