BECKET.
There's Gilbert Foliot.
HENRY.
He! too thin, too thin.
Thou art the man to fill out the Church robe;
Your Foliot fasts and fawns too much for me.
BECKET.
Roger of York.
HENRY.
Roger is Roger of York.
King, Church, and State to him but foils wherein
To set that precious jewel, Roger of York.
No.
BECKET.
Henry of Winchester?
HENRY.
Him who crown'd Stephen--
King Stephen's brother! No; too royal for me.
And I'll have no more Anselms.
BECKET.
Sire, the business
Of thy whole kingdom waits me: let me go.
HENRY.
Answer me first.
BECKET.
Then for thy barren jest
Take thou mine answer in bare commonplace--
_Nolo episcopari_.
HENRY.
Ay, but _Nolo
Archiepiscopari_, my good friend,
Is quite another matter.
BECKET.
A more awful one.
Make _me_ archbishop! Why, my liege, I know
Some three or four poor priests a thousand times
Fitter for this grand function. _Me_ archbishop!
God's favour and king's favour might so clash
That thou and I----That were a jest indeed!
HENRY.
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