GRIM.
Mine arm is sever'd.
I can no more--fight out the good fight--die
Conqueror. [_Staggers into the chapel of St. Benedict_.
BECKET (_falling on his knees_).
At the right hand of Power--
Power and great glory--for thy Church, O Lord--
Into Thy hands, O Lord--into Thy hands!----
[_Sinks prone_.
DE BRITO.
This last to rid thee of a world of brawls! (_Kills him_.)
The traitor's dead, and will arise no more.
FITZURSE.
Nay, have we still'd him? What! the great Archbishop!
Does he breathe? No?
DE TRACY.
No, Reginald, he is dead.
(_Storm bursts_.) [Footnote: _A tremendous thunderstorm actually
broke over the Cathedral as the murderers were leaving it.]
DE MORVILLE.
Will the earth gape and swallow us?
DE BRITO.
The deed's done--
Away!
[DE BRITO, DE TRACY, FITZURSE. _rush out, crying
'King's men!'_ DE MORVILLE _follows slowly.
Flashes of lightning thro' the Cathedral_.
ROSAMUND _seen kneeling by the body of_ BECKET.
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