FITZURSE.
The King commands you to absolve the bishops
Whom you have excommunicated.
BECKET.
I?
Not I, the Pope. Ask _him_ for absolution.
FITZURSE.
But you advised the Pope.
BECKET.
And so I did.
They have but to submit.
THE FOUR KNIGHTS.
The King commands you.
We are all King's men.
BECKET.
King's men at least should know
That their own King closed with me last July
That I should pass the censures of the Church
On those that crown'd young Henry in this realm,
And trampled on the rights of Canterbury.
FITZURSE.
What! dare you charge the King with treachery?
_He_ sanction thee to excommunicate
The prelates whom he chose to crown his son!
BECKET.
I spake no word of treachery, Reginald.
But for the truth of this I make appeal
To all the archbishops, bishops, prelates, barons,
Monks, knights, five hundred, that were there and heard.
Nay, you yourself were there: you heard yourself.
FITZURSE.
I was not there.
BECKET.
I saw you there.
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