Take, keep it, friend. See, first, a circling wood,
A hundred pathways running everyway,
And then a brook, a bridge; and after that
This labyrinthine brickwork maze in maze,
And then another wood, and in the midst
A garden and my Rosamund. Look, this line--
The rest you see is colour'd green--but this
Draws thro' the chart to her.

BECKET.
This blood-red line?

HENRY.
Ay! blood, perchance, except thou see to her.

BECKET.
And where is she? There in her English nest?

HENRY.
Would God she were--no, here within the city.
We take her from her secret bower in Anjou
And pass her to her secret bower in England.
She is ignorant of all but that I love her.

BECKET.
My liege, I pray thee let me hence: a widow
And orphan child, whom one of thy wild barons--

HENRY.
Ay, ay, but swear to see to her in England.