Scene IV.—The Great Hall of the Palace of Bur, near Bayeux.
In parts of the hall tables are spread; in other parts
the guests converse. At the higher end stand two
thrones, on one of which Queen Eleanor sits.
Cornwall, Leicester, the Bishop of Lisieux, De
Tracy, De Moreville, Brito, courtiers, ladies,
guests, and minstrels.
Q. Elea.
Be merry, lords; we keep our birthday feast:
Share ye the royal joy!
Cours.
God save the Queen!
Corn.
(to Leicester).
Five weeks that splendour strengthened on his brow;
Revolted feudatories made submission;
Flanders and France were leagued with him in love:
Then once again that inward grief returned;
New nightmares vexed his bed.
Q. Elea.
Set forth a dance!
Leic.
(to Cornwall).
Sir, the heart hardening maketh soft the brain:
He is not what he was. Of old, when wrath
Hurled forth its fiercest flame, his mind not less
Rushed up keen-edged within it and above it
A spear's length higher;—higher rose his will:
To-day his angers drag aside his purpose
Which oftenest finds its end in accident:
He hath done his own soul wrong.
Corn.
Greatness goes from him.
[The king enters with John of Oxford; they
converse apart in a window.
John of Oxf.
He's hot, the goal in sight; his native airs
Dissolve that frosty caution exile taught him:
He said, ‘My lords of Rouen and of Sens
Save for that king had brought me home in honour:’
He plots; but plots not war. Leicester, I note,
Whispers: his zeal takes cold.
K. Hen.
What meant those letters?
John of Oxf.
His knave that blabbed his secret knew not that:
One was for Scotland's king, and four, he thought,
For princes rebel late in Wales; the rest
For earls in England malcontent.
K. Hen.
He dares not.
John of Oxf.
Doubtless he dares not; and that popular zeal
Which hailed him landing, was but madness old:
He plays a deeper game than treason.
K. Hen.
Ha!
John of Oxf.
The realm invaded, or those earls in arms,
He blows the Church's trumpet,—marches to London;
Commends himself deliverer of the king;
Recovers straight his pupil's childish love,
Or mildly, else, inthralls him.
Q. Elea.
Flavel, sing!
I dance no more.
Lis.
(to Leicester).
Her Highness is not pleased:
The man she hates hath triumphed. Year by year
She urged his Highness 'gainst my lord the primate;
Of late she whets him with more complicate craft:
She knows that all she likes the king dislikes,
And feigns a laughing, new-born zeal for Becket,
To sting the royal wrath.
K. Hen.
(to John of Oxford).
He never should have trod those English shores.
John of Oxf.
As freeman, never;—said I not as much?
The young king's council should have found those letters;
And dealt him traitor's doom. Please it your Highness,
'Tis not too late. My Lord Justiciary
Stands by the council's side.
K. Hen.
I dare not, John;
His death, though death by chance, would wrong my heart—
Imprisonment itself requires pretext.
There are that watch us: mingle with the crowd.
[John of Oxford departs.
Q. Elea.
What does our gracious liege so long in exile?
We languish in his absence, like poor vines
Here in this sunless North. He plots, no doubt,
With John of Oxford 'gainst our first of men,
My lord the primate. Once I loathed that man:—
'Twas folly! What if he contemns all women,
Man-like he fought his battle, and hath won:
The man that wins should wear! I ever cry,
‘Let him win all!’
[The king approaches and sits on a chair not
far from the queen's throne.
Welcome, good king and husband!
I praise your friend! From England forth he fled
A debtor and a bankrupt. He returns
A Legate, trampling down your royal bishops;
I say, let him have all!
K. Hen.
Our queen is mirthful.
Q. Elea.
When Becket rose, a man was England's king:
Finding such charge too onerous for such manhood
He slipped his burthen, and a boy sits throned;
Wears a straw crown. Becket is king in substance;
Why not in name? Though secular kings—when saints—
Have spurned that siren, Power, he need not fear her:
Yon bird grows sleek on weeds poison to us,
So doth mine earlier favourite Punchinello,
And Becket, meekly wearing crowns of earth,
Shall merit heaven's the more.
K. Hen.
Our queen goes mad!
Q. Elea.
My southern realm remains. That sunnier half
Outweighs the whole;—and yet not thus you deemed,
Husband, that time when, Stephen dead, you sued
Your wife's good aid. I made you King of England!
My strong Provencal fleet o'erawed that day
Your English barons; barred them from allies:
That hour the work was mine; the jest was yours:
You thought it laughter-worth. My turn comes next!
Ye that have goblets, brim them! Mark this cup:
It flames with Albi's wine.
[Queen Eleanor rises and stands on the highest
step of the throne with a golden cup in her
right hand.
Leic.
(to Lisieux).
Behold her, Lisieux!
That smile is baleful as a winter beam
Streaking some coast wreck-gorged;—her hair and eyes
Send forth a glare half sunshine and half lightning—
Q. Elea.
A health, my lords! the London merchant's son,
Once England's primate—henceforth King of England!
K. Hen.
(leaping to his feet and half drawing his sword).
Woman, be silent!
Fitz-Urse
(entering).
May it please your Highness,
My lords of York, London, and Salisbury
Are come from England, charged with news not good:
My lord of London, worn, and somewhat faint,
Rests by the gate.
K. Hen.
Command them to the presence.
[The Archbishop of York and the Bishop of
Salisbury enter, followed by Gilbert of
London, low bent and leaning on John
of Oxford.
