University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

The King's Closet.
Henry
enters, and sets down his cap.
This bonnet galls me: 'tis too tight—or stiff—
Or ire hath swoln my brow.—Who could be calm?
A hypocrite! an upstart! an arch-traitor!
Rebel! apostate from his civil faith!
But worse—far worse! false-hearted to his friend!—
And such a friend! who made him all he is,
Far more than he should be!—O soft of brain!
My lady-mother, Empress Maud, was right
When she did warn me 'gainst this wily priest;
But women are suspicious where they hate
As credulous where they love; I did not trust her:
That was o'er-wisdom! Men themselves
Affection oft makes womanish,—nay weaker!
Friendship like love is folly, and the fervider
The blinder!—How he hath illuded me!
I might have known his bold and dangerous nature
When at Toulouse, with vehement desire,
He urged me lay imprisoning hands upon
The person of my suzerain, there besieged,
Louis of France; this show'd how light he deem'd
Of fealty and firm devoir to kings.
What! he will have his rochet for a flag
Flaunt over Tunbridge Castle? Ay, and hurl
Heaven's own stored bolts, with hand unscrupulous
As he would fling a quoit, 'gainst whom he will?—
Becket, bethink thee: that same Hill of Fortune
Thou clomb'st so fast by the precipitous side
And takest high airs upon, hath broke more necks
Than Rock Tarpeian or Leucadian!
'Twere safer to have mounted by the slope,
And kept thy senses steady!—Thou would'st fain
Play Dunstan o'er again, but we 'll enact
No Edwy, no girl-king!—Be sure of it.—
Now ere we buckle us to this business,
One thought for my fair Rosamond. Poor bird!
I must weave close thy verdant Woodstock bower,
And make thy prison blissful as secure;
Fitz-Urse hath had command. There is a Labyrinth
Of marbled halls and rooms; of orchard walks,
Fountains and freshening streams and bright parterres,
All hidden in a dell, and umbraged o'er
With the huge crests of brow-commingled trees,
Disposed in such erroneous ordinance
As leads all progress retrograde, and makes
The intruder quaintly turn himself still out.
It was devised by my late Chancellor,—
These Churchmen ever were great architects,
Planners and plotters—maledictions on them!—
But will at least serve now my dearest need.
The she-hawk is less keen to track her prey,
Less fell to swoop upon it, than is Eleanor
On her that flees for shelter to my bosom.
Lord Walter is fall'n sick, they say—death-sick;
He hath no masculine heir; so if he die
His gentle daughter will, by right of kings
And custom of the realm, become my ward,
Her fortune and her fate be in my hand:
Perchance I scarce had else been chosen protector,
Or she at Woodstock now. 'Tis well even so!
'Twill be my refuge too from toils of state
And broils of home: not a mere dull repose,
But sweet intoxication of delight
With one whose gracious beauty is a frame
Only to close in far more precious charms,
Exquisite tastes, refinèd sense, and wit
Which once shone forth with playful lustre, till
Of late, alas! bedimm'd too oft with tears.
I must restore her by all fondest means
Unto her peaceful self and placid cheer,
Or the sweet Rose I've gather'd to my breast
Will die there with the very warmth it feels.—
Much is before me. Now to Clarendon,
And bend my haughty Primate till he kiss
His own feet if not mine.—Ho! there—
Enter Knights of the Body, and Mapes.
Arm, gentlemen!
Make yourselves steel from top to toe, and bear
Your battle-axes bright. Let a stout score
Of men-at-arms attend us.—
[Exeunt Knights.
Walter Mapes,
Go you to Bishop Folliott, our good friend,
Say he will ride with us to Clarendon.
No quips nor quillets now, sir; make no legs,
But use them nimbly rather than your tongue,
As we have told you!—
[Exit Mapes.
Wit hits all things nicely
But the right times; it will be always shooting!—
Now my ex-Chancellor!

[Exit.