HENRY.
The lack of love!
ROSAMUND.
Of one we love. Nay, I would not be bold,
Yet hoped ere this you might--
[_Looks earnestly at him_.
HENRY.
Anything further?
ROSAMUND.
Only my best bower-maiden died of late,
And that old priest whom John of Salisbury trusted
Hath sent another.
HENRY.
Secret?
ROSAMUND.
I but ask'd her
One question, and she primm'd her mouth and put
Her hands together--thus--and said, God help her,
That she was sworn to silence.
HENRY.
What did you ask her?
ROSAMUND.
Some daily something--nothing.
HENRY.
Secret, then?
ROSAMUND.
I do not love her. Must you go, my liege,
So suddenly?
HENRY.
I came to England suddenly,
And on a great occasion sure to wake
As great a wrath in Becket--
ROSAMUND.
Always Becket!
He always comes between us.
HENRY.
--And to meet it
I needs must leave as suddenly.
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