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Tennyson, Alfred Lord, 1809-1892

"Becket and other plays"


Why do the heathen rage? My two good friends,
What matters murder'd here, or murder'd there?
And yet my dream foretold my martyrdom
In mine own church. It is God's will. Go on.
Nay, drag me not. We must not seem to fly.

SCENE III.--_North Transept of Canterbury Cathedral. On the right hand
a flight of steps leading to the Choir, another flight on the left,
leading to the North Aisle. Winter afternoon slowly darkening. Low
thunder now and then of an approaching storm_. MONKS _heard chanting
the service_. ROSAMUND _kneeling_.

ROSAMUND.
O blessed saint, O glorious Benedict,--
These arm'd men in the city, these fierce faces--
Thy holy follower founded Canterbury--
Save that dear head which now is Canterbury,
Save him, he saved my life, he saved my child,
Save him, his blood would darken Henry's name;
Save him till all as saintly as thyself
He miss the searching flame of purgatory,
And pass at once perfect to Paradise.
[_Noise of steps and voices in the cloisters_.
Hark! Is it they? Coming! He is not here--
Not yet, thank heaven. O save him!
[_Goes up steps leading to choir_.


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