Hear me, son.
As gold
Outvalues dross, light darkness, Abel Cain,
The soul the body, and the Church the Throne,
I charge thee, upon pain of mine anathema,
That thou obey, not me, but God in me,
Rather than Henry. I refuse to stand
By the King's censure, make my cry to the Pope,
By whom I will be judged; refer myself,
The King, these customs, all the Church, to him,
And under his authority--I depart. [_Going_.
[LEICESTER _looks at him doubtingly_.
Am I a prisoner?
LEICESTER.
By St. Lazarus, no!
I am confounded by thee. Go in peace.
DE BROC.
In peace now--but after. Take that for earnest.
[_Flings a bone at him from the rushes_.
DE BRITO, FITZURSE, DE TRACY, _and others (flinging wisps of rushes)_.
Ay, go in peace, caitiff, caitiff! And that too, perjured prelate--and
that, turncoat shaveling! There, there, there! traitor, traitor,
traitor!
BECKET.
Mannerless wolves! [_Turning and facing them_.
HERBERT.
Enough, my lord, enough!
BECKET.
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