And then what follows? Let me follow thee.
FITZURSE.
It much imports me I should know her name.
BECKET.
What her?
FITZURSE.
The woman that I follow'd hither.
BECKET.
Perhaps it may import her all as much
Not to be known.
FITZURSE.
And what care I for that?
Come, come, my lord Archbishop; I saw that door
Close even now upon the woman.
BECKET.
Well?
FITZURSE (_making for the door_).
Nay, let me pass, my lord, for I must know.
BECKET.
Back, man!
FITZURSE.
Then tell me who and what she is.
BECKET.
Art thou so sure thou followedst anything?
Go home, and sleep thy wine off, for thine eyes
Glare stupid--wild with wine.
FITZURSE (_making to the door_).
I must and will.
I care not for thy new archbishoprick.
BECKET.
Back, man, I tell thee! What!
Shall I forget my new archbishoprick
And smite thee with my crozier on the skull?
'Fore God, I am a mightier man than thou.
FlTZURSE.
It well befits thy new archbishoprick
To take the vagabond woman of the street
Into thine arms!
BECKET.
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