Thou angerest me, man: I do not jest.
_Enter_ ELEANOR _and_ SIR REGINALD FITZURSE.
ELEANOR (_singing_).
Over! the sweet summer closes,
The reign of the roses is done--
HENRY (_to_ BECKET, _who is going_).
Thou shalt not go. I have not ended with thee.
ELEANOR (_seeing chart on table_).
This chart with the red line! her bower! whose bower?
HENRY.
The chart is not mine, but Becket's: take it, Thomas.
ELEANOR.
Becket! O--ay--and these chessmen on the floor--the king's crown
broken! Becket hath beaten thee again--and thou hast kicked down the
board. I know thee of old.
HENRY.
True enough, my mind was set upon other matters.
ELEANOR.
What matters? State matters? love matters?
HENRY.
My love for thee, and thine for me.
ELEANOR.
Over! the sweet summer closes,
The reign of the roses is done;
Over and gone with the roses,
And over and gone with the sun.
Here; but our sun in Aquitaine lasts longer. I would I were in
Aquitaine again--your north chills me.
Over! the sweet summer closes,
And never a flower at the close;
Over and gone with the roses,
And winter again and the snows.
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