HERBERT.
As once he bore the standard of the Angles,
So now he bears the standard of the angels.
FOLIOT.
I am the Dean of the province: let me bear it.
Make not thy King a traitorous murderer.
BECKET.
Did not your barons draw their swords against me?
_Enter_ ROGER OF YORK, _with his cross,
advancing to_ BECKET.
BECKET.
Wherefore dost thou presume to bear thy cross,
Against the solemn ordinance from Rome,
Out of thy province?
ROGER OF YORK.
Why dost thou presume,
Arm'd with thy cross, to come before the King?
If Canterbury bring his cross to court,
Let York bear his to mate with Canterbury.
FOLIOT (_seizing hold of_ BECKET'S _cross_).
Nay, nay, my lord, thou must not brave the King.
Nay, let me have it. I will have it!
BECKET.
Away!
[_Flinging him off_.
FOLIOT.
_He_ fasts, they say, this mitred Hercules!
_He_ fast! is that an arm of fast? My lord,
Hadst thou not sign'd, I had gone along with thee;
But thou the shepherd hast betray'd the sheep,
And thou art perjured, and thou wilt not seal.
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