Nay, if I cannot break him as the prelate,
I'll crush him as the subject. Send for him back.
(Sits on his throne.)

Barons and bishops of our realm of England,
After the nineteen winters of King Stephen
A reign which was no reign, when none could sit
By his own hearth in peace; when murder common
As nature's death, like Egypt's plague, had fill'd
All things with blood; when every doorway blush'd,
Dash'd red with that unhallow'd passover;
When every baron ground his blade in blood;
The household dough was kneaded up with blood;
The millwheel turn'd in blood; the wholesome plough
Lay rusting in the furrow's yellow weeds,
Till famine dwarft the race I came, your King!
Nor dwelt alone, like a soft lord of the East,
In mine own hall, and sucking thro' fools' ears
The flatteries of corruption-went abroad
Thro' all my counties, spied my people's ways;
Yea, heard the churl against the baron - yea,
And did him justice; sat in mine own courts
Judging my judges, that had found a King
Who ranged confusions, made the twilight day,
And struck a shape from out the vague, and law
From madness. And the event - our fallows till'd,
Much corn, repeopled towns, a realm again.
So far my course, albeit not glassy-smooth,
Had prosper'd in the main, but suddenly
Jarr'd on this rock. A cleric violated

The daughter of his host, and murder'd him.

F

Bishops-York, London, Chichester, WestminsterYe haled this tonsured devil into your courts;

But since your canon will not let you take

Life for a life, ye but degraded him

Where I had hang'd him. What doth hard murder care For degradation? and that made me muse,

Being bounden by my coronation oath

To do men justice. Look to it, your own selves!
Say that a cleric murder'd an archbishop,

What could ye do?
Not death for death.

John of Oxford.
To death for death.
Henry.

Degrade, imprison him—

But I, my liege, could swear

And, looking thro' my reign,

I found a hundred ghastly murders done
By men, the scum and offal of the Church;
Then, glancing thro' the story of this realm,
I came on certain wholesome usages,
Lost in desuetude, of my grandsire's day,
Good royal customs had them written fair
For John of Oxford here to read to you.

ACT II

SCENE II. Montmirail. "The Meeting of the Kings."

John of Oxford and Henry.

Henry.

Crowd in the distance.

The friends we were!

Co-mates we were, and had our sport together,
Co-kings we were, and made the laws together.
The world had never seen the like before.
You are too cold to know the fashion of it.

Well, well, we will be gentle with him, gracious

Most gracious.

(Enter Becket).

Only that the rift he made

May close between us, here I am wholly king,

The word should come from him.

Becket (kneeling).

Then, my dear liege,

I here deliver all this controversy

Into your royal hands.

Henry.

Ah, Thomas, Thomas,

Thou art thyself again, Thomas again.

Becket (rising). Saving God's honor!

LAMENT OF RICHARD DURING HIS IMPRISONMENT

TRANSLATED FROM THE PROVENÇAL BY W. E. AYTOUN

RICHARD I., the Lion Heart, son and successor of Henry II., was hardly an English king. During the ten years of his reign (1189-1199), he passed but five months in England. He was a prince of warlike and adventurous spirit, and spent his best energies and all the treasure he could wring from his unfortunate subjects on a crusade for the deliverance of Jerusalem. Returning from this fruitless enterprise, he was wrecked on the Adriatic coast, taken prisoner by the Duke of Austria, and held for ransom. The sum of money demanded was raised with great difficulty, and Richard was released after two years of captivity. The tradition that he composed this prison-song during his confinement in the Austrian castle of Durrenstein has no improbability in it, for Richard was an accomplished lyrist.

I

If one in prison may not tell his wrong

Without derision or the chance of blame,

For his own comfort let him speak in song. Friends have I store, and yet they leave me long! If ransom comes not, let them look for shame. Two years and still not free!

II

For well they know, my barons and my men,
Of England, Normandy, Poitou, Guienne,

That not the poorest should in chains be set
If all my wealth could buy him back again.
I will not call them false or treacherous - yet
Two years
and still not free!

III

The captive hath nor friends nor kindred left,
For gold is dearer than the dearest tie.

Alas! I feel myself of all bereft;

And if within this cell I chance to die,
Shame be to them who let their monarch lie

So long, nor set him free.

IV

'Tis little wonder if I grieve and pine,
When he, my lord, invades these lands of mine;
But if he thought upon the sacrament

We took together at the sacred shrine
I would not be this day in prison pent,

But ranging wide and free.

V

O ye of Anjou and of stout Touraine!

Brave bachelors and knights of warlike deed,
Did you but know the place where I remain,
Would ye not aid your sovereign in his need?
Would ye not rescue him? - Alas, in vain!
Ye cannot set me free!

VI

And you, companions, whom I loved so well
Of Pensavin and Chail, O speak for me!
And let your songs thus much of Richard tell,
That, though a prisoner in a foreign cell;
False was he never yet, and shall not be,
Whether in chains or free.

KING RICHARD IN SHERWOOD FOREST LORD TENNYSON

(From "The Foresters ")

ROBIN HOOD and Maid Marian, Friar Tuck and George a Green, Will Scarlett, Midge the Miller's Son, Little John, and the rest are legendary characters loved and sung from the fourteenth century to modern times. The charm of these light-hearted highwaymen was felt by Shakespeare himself: "They say he is already in the forest of Arden, and a many merry men with him: and there they live like the old Robin Hood of England; they say many young gentlemen flock to him every day, and fleet the time carelessly, as they did in the golden world." — (“As You Like It," I, 1.) Tennyson adopts the tradition that the generous outlaws dwelt in Sherwood Forest in Cumberlandshire, and that their leader, Robin Hood, was the banished Earl of Huntingdon. The plot of "The Foresters" turns upon the sudden return of Richard from his Austrian captivity and the consequent collapse of the intrigues conducted by his crafty and cruel brother John.