But he
longed much to see your Grace and the Chancellor ere he past, and his
last words were a commendation of Thomas Becket to your Grace as his
successor in the archbishoprick.
HENRY.
Ha, Becket! thou rememberest our talk!
BECKET.
My heart is full of tears--I have no answer.
HENRY.
Well, well, old men must die, or the world would grow mouldy, would
only breed the past again. Come to me to-morrow. Thou hast but to hold
out thy hand. Meanwhile the revenues are mine. A-hawking, a-hawking!
If I sit, I grow fat.
[_Leaps over the table, and exit_.
BECKET.
He did prefer me to the chancellorship,
Believing I should ever aid the Church--
But have I done it? He commends me now
From out his grave to this archbishoprick.
HERBERT.
A dead man's dying wish should be of weight.
BECKET.
_His_ should. Come with me. Let me learn at full
The manner of his death, and all he said.
[_Exeunt_ HERBERT _and_ BECKET.
ELEANOR.
Fitzurse, that chart with the red line--thou sawest it--her bower.
FITZURSE.
Rosamund's?
ELEANOR.
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