King for the kinglings.

FlTZURSE.
Ay, but he speaks to a noble as tho' he were a churl, and to a churl
as if he were a noble.

ELEANOR.
Pride of the plebeian!

FlTZURSE.
And this plebeian like to be Archbishop!

ELEANOR.
True, and I have an inherited loathing of these black sheep of the
Papacy. Archbishop? I can see further into a man than our hot-headed
Henry, and if there ever come feud between Church and Crown, and I do
not then charm this secret out of our loyal Thomas, I am not Eleanor.

FlTZURSE.
Last night I followed a woman in the city here. Her face was veiled,
but the back methought was Rosamund--his paramour, thy rival. I can
feel for thee.

ELEANOR.
Thou feel for me!--paramour--rival! King Louis had no paramours, and I
loved him none the more. Henry had many, and I loved him none the
less--now neither more nor less--not at all; the cup's empty. I would
she were but his paramour, for men tire of their fancies; but I fear
this one fancy hath taken root, and borne blossom too, and she, whom
the King loves indeed, is a power in the State. Rival!--ay, and when