PROLOGUE.
_A Castle in Normandy. Interior of the Hall. Roofs of a City seen thro' Windows_.
HENRY and BECKET at chess.
HENRY. So then our good Archbishop Theobald Lies dying. BECKET. I am grieved to know as much.
HENRY. But we must have a mightier man than he For his successor.
BECKET. Have you thought of one?
HENRY. A cleric lately poison'd his own mother, And being brought before the courts of the Church, They but degraded him. I hope they whipt him. I would have hang'd him.
BECKET. It is your move.
HENRY. Well--there. [Moves. The Church in the pell-mell of Stephen's time Hath climb'd the throne and almost clutch'd the crown; But by the royal customs of our realm The Church should hold her baronies of me, Like other lords amenable to law. I'll have them written down and made the law.
BECKET. My liege, I move my bishop.
HENRY. And if I live, No man without my leave shall excommunicate My tenants or my household.
BECKET. Look to your king.
HENRY. No man without my leave shall cross the seas To set the Pope against me--I pray your pardon.
BECKET. Well--will you move?
HENRY. There. [Moves.
BECKET. Check--you move so wildly.
HENRY. There then! [Moves.
BECKET. Why--there then, for you see my bishop Hath brought your king to a standstill. You are beaten.
HENRY (_kicks over the board_). Why, there then--down go bishop and king together. I loathe being beaten; had I fixt my fancy Upon the game I should have beaten thee, But that was vagabond.
BECKET. Where, my liege? With Phryne, Or Lais, or thy Rosamund, or another?...
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