University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

A Street in Northampton.
After some time, enter John of Oxford.
John of O.
How still and dead-struck seems the air, which late
Was but one maddening whirl! The pause itself
More fearful yet! 'Tis like that breathlessness
On some blank heath, when rival storms retire
Quick from their lightning-blasted battle-field,
And leave the waste more wild! They but recoil
To gasp, and 'gin their mighty rack again,
Distract the fugitive tribes and darken Nature!—
O these are ominous, gloomy times!—Proud Becket
Bears into banishment a heart more fell
Than tiger's towards his victim ere he spring:
Henry (no lamb before him!) spurs to London,
Like the Red Spirit northern Skalds describe
Breathing pure flame, his very flesh a-glow,
And fiercer blazing the more fast he flies!—
However lamely, I must follow him;
There will be need of me at Sens to smoothe
These differences with a polish'd tongue
And urge with subtle one the royal pleas;
For Harry, stout and little superstitious
As is his mood, loved fondly by his commons
And dreadingly by his nobles, yet hath fears
Political; he will woo the Pontiff more
To quit his holy pout at these late doings,
Than he would Pope Joan for her dearest favours.
So John of Oxford haste to make his peace
As Sens's papal court, and also there
Make your own English fortune, if you may.

[Exit.